More important than birth or death?
Very much. Ladies and gentlemen, my dear friends, all of you, I want—I want you to drink to a—to a wedding.
A wedding! What! Not your own?
Why not, Bella? Why not?
What, Cherry going to get married?
Good luck to you, my boy. Good luck to you. Quite right. (He says this heartily and goes on laughing and talking to Theodore.)
Who's the bride?
The—the niece, Mrs. Ben Dixon, of a—of a most charming aunt. The sister of a brave, clever young friend of mine—the sweetest lady in the land—Miss Nelly Morris.
(Nelly has re-entered and stands L. near door. Jack gives a half-suppressed cry of "Nell!" and a start. No one notices this but Theodore, but he notices it very clearly.)
Nelly! Is this true, Nelly?
(She crosses and stands by Cherry. She is deadly pale and quiet.) Quite true. (As she says this she gives one look over to Jack and then turns away. Jack looks at her and the glass in his hand trembles. Theodore notices all these things. He looks from Jack to Nelly, then back to Jack. Then he covertly takes a pencil from his pocket, draws his cuff down and writes.)
(After a rather awkward pause.) It's—it's a bit of a surprise for you all.
A very pleasant one, Mr. Cherry. I am delighted—delighted. (Aside.) He'll take them both off our hands now— really quite providential.
(Coming forward and taking Nelly's hands.) I do so hope you will be happy, dear. You often hear of these sort of things turning out quite well, and—and——
(Smiling and kissing her.) Thank you, dear.
Very interesting; quite worth the stairs.
(Aside to him.) I believe you'd make notes at your dearest friend's death-bed!
Why not? It couldn't hurt him, and might amuse other people. Well, may all the joys of the world be yours, young people. Bless you both. (He drinks.)
(Rising.) May the Lord help you both. Ben, if you're ready, we'll go.
Quite ready, my dear.
(To Nelly.) Good-bye, my dear. (Kisses her.) You and I must have a long chat when you come down. Goodbye, Ted. This is what comes of your hiding yourself to starve away from your old aunt. Good-bye, Mr. Medbury. Good-bye, Cherry. Go on, Prim. (Primrose goes out) I want to get out of this and have a think. It's old fools and young fools all making fools of themselves together here. (She goes out.)
(To Cherry.) We are both charmed, my dear sir, charmed. I shall feel now that there is someone to look after them, and see that they never want for anything. I can't tell you what a relief it is to me. Good-bye, good-bye. (He follows out.)
Well, good-bye, good-bye all. I'll look you up again soon. Shall be interested to know how you all get on. (He goes out.)
(To Nelly.) You didn't mind my telling it, did you, dear? It had to come out sooner or later of course. You—you're not vexed?
No, Mr. Ch—Adam. Of course not.
I felt as if I could not believe it myself till everybody else knew it. (To Jack.) Jack you haven't congratulated me.
You have every reason to be congratulated, Mr. Cherry, I'm sure. (Aside to Nelly.) I understand, Nell. Don't worry about me. It will make me paint all the better. (Aside to Ted as he goes out.) Try and forget all that nonsense I talked to you, Ted. It's better as it is. Poor devils like you and I have no business to indulge in such luxuries as love, and I shall—— Goodbye, old fellow. (Grips Ted's hand and goes out.)
And now, my dear Ted, that we are alone——
I would rather be still more alone, Mr. Cherry, if you don't mind. Forgive me, but I want to talk to Nelly about this thing. It's rather taken me by surprise.
Certainly, my dear boy. Certainly—very natural. I'll go. You and Nelly will come down and dine with me this evening, won't you, and we'll have a talk then.
Thank you. I'll let you know.
Ah yes. Do; do. (To Nelly.)Au revoir, my dear. Good-bye, Ted. Good-bye. (Goes out.)
(He closes the door, and then returns. Nelly has gone to mantelpiece. He comes to her, and, putting his hands on her shoulders, speaks very gently.) You've done this for me, little woman, but it must not be, dear. Do you think that if I wouldn't ask dear old Aunt Bella for help that I'd take it for this price?
One has a right to take what one has paid for. The price has been given.
No, dear, only promised—by someone who did not know the value of what she was offering. You must let me cancel the bargain, Nell. It was a bad one to make—ineverysense of the word.
Perhaps. But bad bargains have to be kept when made, as well as good ones. Don't let us talk about it any more, dear. The thing's done now. It cannot be undone.
Yes it can, Nell, andmust. It makes it a little awkward, his having announced it in that ridiculous theatrical way, but when I tell him everything. When I tell him that you love dear old Jack——
But you never will do that, Ted—for my sake—for all our sakes.
You must get out of it somehow, Nell.
I cannot. I do not wish to. I have pledged my word, and I'll keep it. Come, it isn't so very terrible (with a smile). I'm not the first girl, dear, who's had to say good bye to an impracticable little romance, and take the sober reality offered her by an elderly gentleman. Heisa gentleman, Ted, and he's very fond of me I know, and I shall try and make him a good wife. (Puts her hands on Ted's shoulders.) It's a grey old world, brother. We must be content with grey lives.
Nell, Nell, I won't have it. You are sacrificing yourself—you are sacrificing Jack—and all for me. I won't let you do it. Let me go down and see Cherry now, and end the matter at once. (Breaking away from her)
(Staying him) Please don't, Ted. You are only making it harder for me.
Nelly, what an obstinate little thing you are. (With a gesture of impatience) Do look at the thing reasonably. You've made a rash promise, that the next moment you regret.
I donotregret it. (Ted stares at her.) Listen to me. Ted. When Adam Cherry asked me to marry him to let him make our lives smooth, I thought of you.
I know. That's——
(Checking him.) And of myself. (A pause.) I'm tired of this life, Ted. I'm tired of living in an attic. I'm tired of being ashamed to go out into the streets until it's dark because of my clothes. I'm tired of feeling hungry. It's such a vulgar feeling. We have no one to help us. You talk about aunt. You know that man has all her money, and he's not likely to let us have any of it—even if we cared to take it. As for Jack—poor boy—what could he give me? What could I bring him but the same weary sordid struggle? (She puts her arms about him.) Don't be shocked at me, old boy. I used to have plenty of sentiment, as you know, but somehow it doesn't thrive on ten shillings a week. (She moves away a few steps. Then pausings turns to him, stretching out her arms to him.) Are you very angry with me, Ted?
(He does not turn to her, but goes to the window and stands looking out)
No, dear. Only a little disappointed.
(Nelly stands thus for a moment, then takes the empty glasses from the table and crosses with them towards the cupboard.)
Curtain.
A large sunny drawing-room, handsomely and somewhat showily furnished, opening on garden. Adam Cherry and Mr. Ben Dixon are sitting talking.
You see, my dear sir, this is not an ordinary worldly speculation. We are promoting this company—myself and a few Christian friends—not merely to earn an income for our shareholders—though that we shall do, Mr. Cherry, that we shall do—but also to benefit humanity at large. Think, Mr. Cherry, what a grand thing it will be to be helping the good cause—to be doing good among one's fellow-creatures—and at a profit, Mr. Cherry—at a very handsome profit—that's the beauty of the scheme. Mr. Cherry, as a man not altogether inexperienced in these matters, I say that never—never before has such an opportunity been presented to the investing public of combining the earthly comfort of a certain 15 per cent, dividend with the ennobling—I say the ennobling—satisfaction of furthering the cause of Heaven.
Well, to be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Ben Dixon, I am thinking more of the earthly than of the heavenly part of it. I hope I try to do my bit of good in the world, but I never mix the two things up. When I invest my money, what I think about is the return.
Quite right, Mr. Cherry, quite right. We—myself and the other directors—are, perhaps, a little too etherial in these matters. We need among us such a man as yourself, Mr. Cherry—you will join our hoard, Mr. Cherry? You will give us the benefit of your experience— of your grasp of business?
(Pleased.) Well, if you really think I could be of any help——
Think it! My dear sir, you are the very man we want. I think, Mr. Cherry—I think you suggested put-ting £8,000 into the affair?
Yes, Mr. Ben Dixon. It is a big sum for me. In fact—in fact, it represents nearly all my savings. But the scheme seems a very safe one.
Mr. Cherry do you think that I would allow you to put your money in this thing if I did not know that it was safe? How can we fail! We have the Lord Mayor. (Confidentially.) I am even in hopes of having the Archbishop of Canterbury. Besides, look at the scheme itself. We buy up and amalgamate all the leading manufactories of temperance drinks throughout the kingdom. My dear sir, do you know the amount that is spent every year in this country on lemonade and ginger-beer alone?
Oh, I am quite with you, Mr. Ben Dixon. The business ought to be a good one.
Itisa good one. It shall be a better one. Mr. Cherry, in a few years' time we shall not be earning our 15 per cent., no, nor our 30 per cent., but our 100 per cent., and you shall be with us. Here, Mr. Cherry, is an application form. (He has put it all ready.) I will make it a personal matter that the full number of shares shall be allotted to you.
(Who has risen, comes to desk. Ben Dixon puts a pen into his hand. He hesitates.) They—they do say one should not put all one's eggs into one basket.
It depends upon the basket I suppose. I should say it would be better to put them all into one sound basket than in half-a-dozen risky ones. (Laughs.)
Yes, that's quite right—quite right. You see I do want a big dividend.
Of course you do—we all do—I mean it is very natural foryouto do so.
Of course, before it did not matter. But now, Mr. Ben Dixon—now that I'm going to be married I wish if possible to be able to retire from business altogether, and that, of course, with my small capital I could not do unless—
(Stopping him.) Mr. Cherry, I will be frank with you. You speak of the very matter that has been in my mind. If you had come to us two or three months ago, and had asked for these shares I should have said "No." I should have said to my brother directors: This is a safe and brilliant scheme, let us keep it to ourselves. Why should we admit this man among us? Let him be content with his two and a half Goschens, his three per cent, debentures. But now, Mr. Cherry, I think of Nelly—my dear little Nelly—and I say, "Come." Come and share with us. That is the line for signature, Mr. Cherry.
I have every confidence, Mr. Ben Dixon, both in you and the scheme. (Signs). Adam Cherry.
(Blots paper and takes it up and examines it.) Let me see. The full amount is payable on allotment. Shall we telegraph your brokers at the same time?
Oh yes—perhaps that will be the simplest way (takes form which Ben Dixon hands to him, and writes.) Yes, I'll do so.
It doesn't matter, you know—doesn't matter at all. I will make myself responsible for the amount if it's any convenience to you, Mr. Cherry.
May just as well settle the matter now and have done with it. (Finishes telegram.) That will fix it all right I think.
(He has folded up the application and has placed it in one of the stamped directed envelopes he has ready. He now crosses and takes telegram and looks at it.) Ah, one can always tell the man of business, Mr. Cherry—one can always tell the man of business. (Ben Dixon has previously rung, and now a footman enters.) Take this letter to the post at once, and send this telegram off at the same time. Don't stop for anything.
Yes, sir. (Goes out.)
Well, you don't want me any more I suppose, Mr. Ben Dixon? I think I'll take a stroll in your pleasant garden.
Do, Mr. Cherry, do. (Glances out of window. Then turns and shakes his finger playfully at Adam Cherry.) Ah, you rogue—you rogue. I think I see what makes that garden so particularly pleasant just at this moment —Eh?
(Chuckling.) Well, I——
(Pushes him towards windows.) Run along to her,
Mr. Cherry. Run along, I don't believe you are a day older than five-and-twenty.
A little—little—I'm afraid.
Don't believe it. I don't believe it. (Cherry goes out, laughing. Ben Dixon watches him out, and then turns round again. He says nothing, but his face expresses his huge satisfaction.)
(Enter Theodore Travers.)
Ah, my dear boy, so you've come down to see the old folks again—come back to the old nest.
Well, you've done it, Ben.
Done what?
You are famous at last. You've beaten me. I'm not in it with you this week.
I have for some time enjoyed a certain reputation, I believe.
Among the few that really knew you, yes. Spreading; that's the awkward part of it.
Wh—what do you mean? (Beginning to grow anxious.)
Have you seenThe Illustrated Police Newsthis week?
My dear Theodore, you know I do not countenance such publications.
Um! You've countenanced it this time right enough. (Takes "Illustrated Police News" from his pocket, and, opening it, holds it up.) "The Councillor and the Strong Woman. Amusing Scene at the Aquarium."
(Aghast.) Oh, my——
(Fixing paper in front of fable.) It's such an excellent likeness of you, too. I've had friends of mine in this thing before, but it's never been a bit like 'em. This is a genuine portrait of you. No one could mistake it.
My dear Theodore, I can explain—I can explain everything.
You generally can. The question is, step-father, will anybody believe you?
Let me tell you the truth.
Don't you waste time, Ben, I know it. You set to work and invent a plausible lie before the mater finds out about it.
No, no, my dear boy. You must hear me. It—it was this way. It was the last day we were in town. I started to go to Exeter Hall.
Yes—many do.
But passing the Aquarium, it—it occurred to me——
That it was a much more attractive place.
(Virtuously.) No, Theo—that it was my duty as a member of the National Vigilance Society to look in and see if—if——
If something could not be found out against it.
Precisely. I stopped the cab and went in. I mingled with the godless throng. I even sacrificed myself so far as to speak to one or two of them.
Ladies?
Theymayhave been. I stood them drinks—if that be the correct expression. Not to excite suspicion, I even sipped a little here and there myself. I endeavoured to acquire the spirit of the place.
From all accounts, you did so to a pretty considerable extent.
It was necessary to my purpose. I went from bar to bar accumulating material. The case was almost complete. Thinking I had had enough—done enough for one evening, I was about to leave when somebody—who said he was a friend of mine—suggested that we should go "behind the scenes." He introduced me to a not unprepossessing young woman, whom he described as the "Female Hercules." I was on the point of putting a few questions to her, when all of a sudden a strange feeling of dizziness came over me. To save myself from falling, I flung out my arms—as any man might have done—and caught hold of the thing nearest to me. Unfortunately, it was the Hercules lady. Mistaking my action, she took me up, and, before I could explain matters, carried me out, and deposited me in the main transept.
(He again takes up the paper.) The artist represents her as assisting you by the scruff of the neck, and other things.
It may have been so. I was too much upset to notice details.
And then the Aquarium attendants completed the business by chucking you out into the street.
I deny it. I was not chucked. 'They perceived that I was unwell, and led me out into the air.
Where my excellent friend, the door-keeper at the Hanoverian, found you putting pennies into a life boat box and trying to get out cigarettes. Ben, that explanation's too thin. I expected something better from you.
You—you don't think it will do?
Afraid not.
Perhaps you are right, Theo. The world is ever prone to think evil.
Yes; you see it's had a good deal of experience, Ben.
Dear me, it's a very awkward affair—very awkward. Does it mention the name?
No. Merely refers to you as "a certain guardian of the public morals." (Looking at the picture again.) Hardly any need to put the name in this case. It would be an insult to the artist.
(Looking over his shoulder.) Itislike me. I can see that myself.
They've even got your smile.
Don't gloat, my boy; don't gloat over it.
I won't. Itishard lines on you. (Throws paper down on easy-chair.) What will you do?
I don't know. I must think. I wonder if your stepmother's seen it?
Some friend of yours will send it to her, you bet.
It may not be noticed. You see, fortunately, it is not a paper that circulates much in religious circles.
Not as a rule. This week will probably be an exception.
I wish you wouldn't harp so on the gloomy side of it, Theo. We will put our trust in Providence.
I should. I've noticed that it's generally on the side of the rogues. (Strolls towards window.) Don't let the thing lie about. Where's the mater? (Ben Dixon does not answer.) In the garden?
Yes—no. I don't know—I don't know where she is.
Poor old Ben! (Goes out into garden.)
If this gets about I'm done for. What can I do? If it only weren't such a good likeness, or if there was only another member of the Vigilance Society something like me I might put it on to him.
(Mrs. Ben Dixon has entered. She has sat down, without noticing it, on the paper in arm-chair.)
I do hope Belinda won't—— (Turns round and sees Mrs. Ben Dixon.)
I want a business chat with you, Ben.
Where's that paper? (Looks frantically about for the paper.)
What's the matter? Lost anything?
No, oh no, my dear, nothing at all. (Aside.) Did he take it with him—or is she sitting on it?
I want something settled about Ted and Nelly.
Certainly, my dear, certainly. Won't you sit over here, my dear? That chair looks so uncomfortable.
The chair's all right. It's you who seem to be uncomfortable. (Looks round and sees him leaning over the back of the chair looking down into it.) What is it? Am I sitting on anything? (About to rise.)
(Rather alarmed.) No, my dear, nothing whatever. Don't you rise. It's all right. You were speaking about those dear children, Ted and Nelly?
Difficult to remember what one is talking about with you pirouetting all over the place like a pantomime fairy. I wanted to talk to you about what we could do for them.
They are going back to-morrow morning, and—— (He peers under the table for the paper.) I'll tell you what it is, Ben, you are doing too much work on that Vigilance Association. It's sapping your brain. Do give the world a rest. Let it go wrong for a bit if it wants to.
I wish I could, my dear. I worry myself too much about others, I know.
Yes, and I expect that's what the others think too. This is a case where you can trouble yourself about other folks to some advantage—tothem. We must do something for those children, Ben. It was your fault they lost their money. We must see that they get some thing back again.
But, you see, my dear, they are both so proud. To offer them help would only be to wound them. We should never, Belinda, do anything to wound the susceptibilities of others.
(Growing irritable.) I shall do something that will wound yours, Ben, in a minute, if you've got any. There are more ways of offering people help than by slapping them in the face with it. If the thing's done in the right spirit they won't refuse it. I'll see to that.
But, my dear, why should we interfere at all? Dear Mr. Cherry is only too anxious to help them. Why should we deprive that worthy man of the exquisite pleasure of assisting them? My dear, we have no right to —it's his first call—I mean his privilege——
Ben, you're either a fool or you're pretending to be one. What do you think induced that girl to accept him?
The usual thing, I suppose, my dear. Love that comes to——
Fiddlesticks! Girls of nineteen don't marry men of fifty-five for love.
Forty-three, my dear. He told me so himself.
Forty-three,andthe rest.I'mnot a chicken, and he wore his own beard when he played Macbeth to my child's head. He's fifty-five if he's a day, and she's accepted him because they were both starving—small blame to her for it. What we've got to do is to lift them out of this poverty and give them a start, and then there'll be no need for the poor girl to sacrifice herself.
But think of Mr. Cherry.
Oh, Cherry's an old fool, as good and kind a one as ever lived—that's better than some of them are—but an old fool all the same. Now come, Ben, I'm going to do my duty by poor dead Hetty's bairns, and you've got to help me. If they were cannibals or converted acrobats with no claim upon you whatever, you'd be eager enough to.
Precisely so, my dear. That is just it. You see, a public philanthropist has no right to indulge in private charities. He is meant for all alike. He embraces mankind. I embrace mankind. You find me two hundred poor medical students with their sisters, needing assistance, and I shall be delighted to receive subscriptions on their behalf. (Aside.) Oh, he must have taken it with him.
I don't doubt it. In this case, you're going togivesomething toonepoor medical student. The other 199 you can find for yourself.
Belinda, I cannot. It grieves me, but I cannot depart from my principles. Charity should be like the sun——
Yoursis, Ben. We hear a good deal about it, but don't often see it. We won't argue the matter. My mind's made up. I want £4,000.
Then I'm very much afraid, my dear, you will have to do what a great many other people who want money have to do.
Do you mean, Ben, that you won't let me have it?
I mean, my dear, I cannot.
What have you done—blued the lot?
Belinda, your vulgar expressions pain me. There is no need to be violent. Your own little fortune is undoubtedly somewhat involved, but so long as I have a crust——
I don't want your crusts. I want to know what you've done with all my money. There was a tidy bit of it, and you've had the entire control of it—more fool me. What have you done with it?
I manipulated it, my dear, to the best of my poor ability. Unfortunately, Heaven has not——
Oh! drop that. I'm tired of your Heaven. It's enough to set anyone against the place always hearing of it in your company. Let's understand the thing plainly. Haven't I got a penny of my own?
Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that, my dear, but——
But not much more, I expect. Oh, you villain!You
old—— (He has been standing in one of his customary stained-glass attitudes close to door. Mrs. Ben Dixon with her last sentence rises as if to come to him. In an instant he slips through door, and closes it behind him softly.)
It serves me right. It serves me right. (Enter Primrose from window.) Oh, my dear child, don't you ever marry. It's only your money they want to get hold of.
Oh, I'msurehe doesn't.
He!Lord help the child, you haven't done it already, have you?
(Confused.) Oh no—no—I—I meant——
Don't trust him. Don't trust any of 'em. Have it all settled on yourself, and keep your own eye on it. Oh, to think what a fool I've been!
(Nelly has entered, followed by Cherry.)
What's the matter, aunt? You're worried about something?
Worried! I'm not worried. I'm mad!
What's wrong, aunt?
What's wrong! Ask what's right! That's the shortest question to answer. Oh, my dear child, your uncle's a villain, and I'm a born idiot, and everything's going wrong for everybody, and I can't help anybody. (Leans on Nelly's shoulder and begins to half cry.)
What is it, auntie, dear?
Don't ask me, my dear. Don't anybody ask me anything. I can't tell you. Oh that Belinda Greggs could ever develop into such a first prize fool!
(She has been sitting on arm of easy-chair, and has taken up the paper) Oh, here's a portrait of Mr. Ben Dixon.
(Glances round and sees a paper in Primrose's hand) What in?The Young Man's Christian Herald, I suppose, under the heading of "Shining Lights"?
No—no, it's (reading)The Illustrated Police News.
The what?
Oh, impossible, Primrose, you must——
(Takes the paper and suddenly becomes silent)
(Snatches it from Nelly, looks at it, then crosses over to Cherry) Cherry, what do you make of this?
(Takes paper and reads) "The Councillor and the Strong Woman." The—the gentleman is certainly very much like him.
The whole thing is like him.
(To Nelly.) Do you think itisMr. Ben Dixon?
I can't say. I didn't look at it very closely. Come upstairs, dear, and show me your new hat, will you?
(The two girls go off talking.)
It can't be, you know.
But there he is. What does it say about it?
"The Councillor at the Aquarium. A shameful spectacle (see illustration) was witnessed by our artist at the Aquarium on Monday evening last. A certain guardian of the public morals, well known as a philanthropist, and a member of the Vigilance Society——"
That's Ben right enough. There can't be two of 'em. Go on.
"Appears to have thought fit to visit this place of entertainment on the evening in question. Not content with insulting various respectable people among the audience, he proceeded, in company with his degraded companions, to force his way behind the scenes. There, meeting Mdlle. Bruno, the Female Hercules, and pretending to recognise her as his long-lost cousin, he immediately threw his arms around the lady's neck, and endeavoured to kiss her. Fortunately, Mdlle. Bruno is a lady well able to protect herself. Taking the villain up by the collar of his coat and the——— (Sinks his voice.) she promptly carried him out and handed him over to the Aquarium officials, who finally rid the building of his presence by the simple but effective process known as chucking. We trust that——"
That will do. That's enough. I wonder if I'm going to find out anything more about him to-day?
It's impossible. There's been a mistake.
There has been, and I'm the poor ninny that's made it.
If anyone had asked me for my ideal of respectability—
Respectability! Man alive, don't talk about it. The very sound of the word makes me ill. It's been my curse from a child. I refused to play hopscotch at eight years old because I thought it wasn't respectable, and went sliding instead and was nearly drowned. It was I who persuaded poor father to give up the fried-fish shop because fried fish wasn't respectable, and he went into oysters and ruined himself in a year. I was earning twenty pounds a week at the Halls, and what did I do? Threw it up and went on the stage as principal boy at five pounds—all to be respectable. And then the stage wasn't respectable enough for me, so I married Travers, andhewasn't respectable enough for me. And what has it all ended in? What has this insatiable craving for respectability brought me to? Why, I'm the wife of a man who has been chucked—chucked from the Aquarium.
It is certainly very disappointing
And that's not all.
What! Has he been chucked from somewhere else too?
No—at least, not that I know of. I mean that's not the worst that I've found out. I couldn't tell that poor child, but, Cherry, I'm ruined. He's swindled me out of all my fortune—all the money that Travers left me. I haven't a penny left to call my own.
Belinda! For Heaven's sake don't say he's a swindler.
Why not? He is my own husband. I suppose I can say what I like about him. Let's havesomeconsolation. (Noticing Cherry's distraction.) What's the matter with you?
(Wildly.) He's got £8,000 of my money. Nearly all I have. I've put it all into a company of his.
(Aghast.) You? Oh, why did I bring you down here? Oh, you poor lamb! Oh, what a miserable woman I am!
(Enter Theodore.)
Ah, step-mater, I've been looking all over the place for you. (Noticing the open paper on the floor where Cherry has dropped it, and, taking in the facts, he looks from one to the other. Then picks up paper, folds it, and puts in his pocket.) Finding out the truth about Ben, I see. Always a very painful matter finding out the truth about people.
Theodore, your step-father's a scoundrel.
Don't put him down to me, mater. He wasn't my selection.Youchose him for me.
Why did you ever let me marry him?Youmust have seen through him.You'rethe old experienced person. Why didn't you warn your poor silly step-mother? Why didn't you stop me?
My dear Bella, if I were to advise everybody, and they were to follow my advice, the world would become so intensely sensible as to be utterly uninteresting. Besides, there's really nothing much to be upset about. You see, fortunately, the lady was astrongwoman. Now, if she had been aweakone, why——
That's not all, Theodore. I could have got over that. I shouldn't have been the first woman to find out that a man's respectable only so long as he thinks you can see him. But he's ruined me, Theodore. He's lost all my money for me.
(Whistles.) And found it for himself, I suppose.
That's just whatIsuppose too. And not content with that, he's cheated poor old Cherry here out of £8,000.
(Looks across at Cherry, who is standing utterly crushed.) "The Anti-Alcoholic and Mineral Water Union, Limited?"
(With a groan.) Yes, I signed the application for 200 shares not an hour ago. He said he'd see that they were allotted to me.
I should say you could rely upon them. Are they settled for?
I expect so by now. He suggested that I should telegraph to my brokers at the same time.
And you did so? Of course, you would. (Looks at watch). Four o'clock—too late to do anything to-day. I will go up first thing to-morrow morning and see if anything can be done. Not that I expect anythingcan. Ben's got his failings, but heisa good business man. I'll give a look into your affairs at the same time, mater. I don't suppose you'll get anything back, but it will be interesting to find out where it's all gone to.
(Rising with grunt of disgust) Ah! and to think I've got to live with it, and to call it "my dear" when company's present. I'll make up for it in private. Theo, keep an eye on me for a bit. Don't let me get at him unless you want to see me doing my six months' hard for wringing his neck. (Goes out)
You trust him, mater. He won't let you get at him. (To Cherry) Don't let Ben see that you suspect anything, or he'll——
(Primrose appears at window)
(Looking in) Come on, Theodore. I'm waiting for you.
I know you are. You shall be rewarded anon. I've just got to talk a little business with Mr. Cherry (Puts his hand on Cherry's shoulder, and takes him towards door.) Come up to my study. We shan't be interrupted there.
It's so very kind of you.
Not at all—not at all. (Aside.) Good material for a financial novel. (They go off.)
(Primrose and Nelly come in from garden.)
Nelly! something very serious is going on here. Mr. Ben Dixon's been doing something that he oughtn't.
(She sits before piano, touching the keys softly, making a faint suggestion of music here and there throughout the conversation). I'm afraid it's a common failing, dear.
Yes—but he's been doing it more than usual. I don't like that man. Ted doesn't like him either. He says he is an oily old scoundrel.
Ted might speak a little more respectfully of his host.
Oh, he's not our host. It'sMrs. Ben Dixon—and besides that was only tome, you know.
Oh!
I never could make out why Mrs. Ben Dixon married him. She's so jolly. (Musingly.) One does come across some very ill-assorted couples—very. When are you going to be married, Nelly?
Very soon, I think
May I be bridesmaid?
Oh, there won't be any bridesmaids, dear, or anything of that sort. We shall just go into the church, our two selves, come out, and go away.
No breakfast?
( Shakes her head and smiles.) No fuss of any kind.
No dress! No flowers! No presents! No people!
No cake! (Nell shakes her head.) How will you know that you're married?
(A little bitterly.) I shall wake to the fact soon enough.
Nelly, didn't you ever have a young lover? Mr. Cherry's awfully nice and good, but you know what I mean—somebody handsome, and big, and impudent. Who—— (With a girl's quickness notices the trembling of Nelly's lip.) Was it very long ago?
(Very low.) I think so—very, very long ago.
What happened? Did you quarrel?
No, dear. Only like Jamie in the ballad, he hadn't any siller and Ted and I hadn't any siller, and——
And so you're going to marry "Auld Robin Gray." Oh, Nelly, is it too late? There's a lot of siller in the world, but there isn't much love. Is it too late, dear?
Yes.
(Enter Jack, with hat and stick in hand, ushered in by servant.)
Mrs. Ben Dixon won't be long, sir. (Goes out.)
Oh, Mr. Medbury! (Advances to him and shakes hands.)
How d'you do, Miss Deane? (Shaking hands with Nelly, who has risen, a little constrainedly.) How are you, Miss Morris?
Mrs. Ben Dixon will be so glad to see you, I know. She was saying only this morning how sorry she was you hadn't been able to come down.
Well, I'm ashamed to say I haven't come to see Mrs. Ben Dixon now. (The girls look surprised.) I've really come more to see Ted. Is he here?
(Anxiously.) There's nothing happened?
Nothing to do with him. It's a matter I wanted to consult him about, that's all.
I'll go and find him for you.
Oh, it's a shame to trouble you.
It's brutal, isn't it? (She goes out laughing.)
(After a pause; he and Nelly seem careful not to look at one another.) How is Ted? All right?
Yes, he's very much better. He seems more cheerful.
Ah, yes, things are looking a bit brighter for him, I hope. Change of luck's better even than change of air for putting new life into a man, I should think.
How—how areyougetting on?
Me? Oh, much the same as usual. I supposeIought to be a little luckier now, if there's any truth in the old adage.
(Still not looking at him—after a pause.) Jack, can you forgive me?
There's nothing to forgive, Nelly.
Yes there is, Jack—a lot. I've used you very badly. Any other man would hate me and despise me. But—but I don't want you to, Jack. (Leans over over her book. A pause.)
There's not much fear of that, Nelly. I can never tell you—I had better not try to, perhaps—what I feel—what I shall always feel towards you. It isn't hate, Nelly. We shall be drifting farther and farther apart, out of sight of one another. Think of me—when you do think of me—as kindly as I shall ever think of you. It will be a help to me to know that you are doing so.
(Nelly has risen, and they stand facing each other. Yielding to a sudden impulse, she raises her face to his and their lips meet. Then with a low cry she pushes him from her, and goes out.)
(Enter Ted and Cherry.)
Hulloa, Jack, old man, anything up?
Yes, something rather important. I thought I'd just run down and see you about it. (Shaking hands with Cherry.) You're not looking too well, Mr. Cherry.
I'm a little worried, my dear boy—a little worried.
Oh, I'm so sorry. Well, look here, I'll talk about this matter to Ted, then. I won't trouble you with it.
No, dear boy; no. If it's about anybody else's worries it will help me to forget my own. What is it? Nothing wrong with you, I hope?
No, it's about other people. (Commencing to take paper from his pocket.) Have you seenThe Illustrated Police Newsthis week?
(Grasping what is coming.) Yes—I have. What do you know about it?
Oh! Oh, nothing (unfolding paper), except that the portrait of the gentleman in the centre picture—drawn by a chum of mine who happened to be present, and sent to the paper for a joke—seems to me an excellent likeness of your friend Mr. Ben Dixon. Who do you say it is? (Hands paper to Cherry.)
(Taking paper from Cherry.) Great Scott! itmustbe Ben Dixon.
Oh, it is. There's no question of doubt. Young Travers knows all about the matter. ItisMr. Ben Dixon.
Mrs. Wheedles says it isn't.
Mrs. Wheedles? What does she know about it?
She says she knows the party very well indeed, and that his name is—Wheedles!
Wheedles!
The long-lost Wheedles!
Impossible!
So I explained to her. I told her that he was an eminent philanthropist and that his name was Ben Dixon. She said she didn't care what he was or what he was called: his real name was Wheedles, he was her lawful married husband, and if we would bring her face to face with him she would precious soon prove it.
(A pause. The three men look at one another.)
Well, from what I've found out to-day, I should say he was villain enough for anything.
And from what I've suspected for a pretty long time, I should say the same.
What are we to do? Mrs. Wheedles says she'll have the law on him.
Why, do all we can as good citizens to assist Mrs. Wheedles and the law. It will be a precious good thing for aunt to get rid of the old humbug.
We must go to work cautiously you know, Ted, or we may only make matters more unpleasant for your aunt than they are. Mrs. Wheedles may be mistaken.
I hope to goodness she isn't. I wonder how we can find out?
Oh, by-the-bye, she gave me this too (produces photo and shows it). The last portrait of Wheedles—taken four years ago. (Ted takes paper, and compares photo with paper.) Should you say 'twas the same man?
(Examining.) The whiskers make such a difference. Hadn't she got a photo of him with some hair on his face?
No. I asked her that. Wheedles seems to have always lived a clean-shaven life.
I wish we could get Ben Dixon to shave himself.
Yes; that would be the thing
Yes; but it's no good talking about that. He's hardly likely to do that to please us. No, this is a matter that we must go to work about cautiously. Now, you come with me, Jack, and we will talk it over with young Travers (moving with Jack towards door). You stop here, Ted. We'd better not be all together. It will look as if something was the matter and we must keep the thing quiet. (Cherry and Jack go off talking.)
(Crosses, and sitting on the easy chair enjoying the paper.) By Jove! Old Ben at the Aquarium—drunk and——
(Ben Dixon is heard whistling "There is a happy land." Ted, hearing him, pushes paper under cushion. Crosses to fire whistling "Get your hair cut." Enter Ben Dixon.)
(Looking about.) You haven't seen my spectacles anywhere, have you, Ted?
No, Mr. Ben Dixon. Did you leave them here?
Yes, I wish you'd look on the garden seat. I may have left them there. Do you mind?
Oh, certainly. (Goes out through window. Ben Dixon hastily darts to chair and, moving cushion, finds paper.)
(Seizing it with a cry of joy.) Ah! So itwashere all the time. Theo must have slipped it there when he heard Bella coming. What a bit of luck. They've none of them seen it. (Looking at it) Oh, it is like me. If I could only disguise myself for a little while, till——
(Re-enter Ted. Ben Dixon hides paper under his coat.)