ACT I

ACT IDownstairs

Downstairs

All that follows takes place atMr. Freeman’shouse in the neighbourhood of Lancaster Gate; a large house in a terrace of others like it. It begins in the dining-room; middle-class, but sumptuously so. Dinner is in its final stages; a decanter of port is on the table, and a goodly array of the best fruits to be bought.Mr. Freemanis seated at the table very occupied with a fruit;Mrs. Freemansits opposite to him; there is no one else in the room.Mr. Freemanis rather short and rather round, a little red and a little bald;Mrs. Freemanis his wife.Mr. Freemancontinues to eat his fruit—there is no other sound.

Mr. Freemancontinues to eat his fruit—there is no other sound.

Mr. Freeman(when his mouth is unoccupied): Disgusting! (He reaches out and selects another fruit.) Makes me sick!

[The door opens and such an attractive head comes round it.

The Head:No!... He hasn’t.

[The head withdraws and the door shuts.

Mr. Freeman:Abominable!I wonder if Florence knows.

Mrs. Freeman: She’s out.

Mr. Freeman: Rosie then. (Calling.) Gwen!... Gwen!!

[The door reopens and the head reappears.

Mr. Freeman: Does Rosie know?

The Head: No.

[The head disappears and the door shuts.

Mr. Freeman:Monstrous!(Then suddenly he shouts again) HI! Gwen!... Gwen!!

[The door reopens and the head reappears.

The Head: Yes?

[For answerMr. Freemanangles for his keys in his hip pocket, catches them with a laborious spasm and throws them on to the table.

Mr. Freeman: Liqueur.

[The owner of the head comes into the room.Gwen,the daughter; twenty-four years old, and very attractive. She comes straight to the table, picks up the keys, and unlocks a cupboard in a handsome sideboard.

Mrs. Freeman: Shut the door, dear.

[Gwengoes and shuts the door.

It’s cold.

[Gwenreturns to the cupboard.

Gwen: Which?

Mr. Freeman: Benedictine.... No. Chartreuse.

Gwen: Green?

Mr. Freeman: Yellow.... What’s the time? (But he gets no answer.) Nobody in this house ever knows what the time is. (So he looks at his own watch.)D’Ha!He won’t be back to dinner now.... (He selects a cigar from a box on the table) ... preposterous.

Mrs. Freeman: You’re worried.

Mr. Freeman: Of course I’m worried ... he left the office three-quarters of an hour too early for lunch, and he never came back at all. I haven’t set eyes on him.

Mrs. Freeman: He came home.

Mr. Freeman: Eh? What excuse did he give?

Mrs. Freeman: I only heard him upstairs in his attic ... playing the piano.

Mr. Freeman:Playing the piano!!!I ask you ... a grown man ... what is ’e? Twenty-six.

Mrs. Freeman: Twenty-eight.

Mr. Freeman: Nonsense. (Then he considers.) Oh, yes, twenty-eight. He walks calmly out of his office in the City in the middle of the morning, he leaves an afternoon’s work untouched and he comes home and PLAYS THE PIANO.

Mrs. Freeman: He was always fond of music.

Mr. Freeman:I’mfond of music, but if I was to behave like that I’d be playing a barrel organ in a fortnight ... where you going?

[Gwenhas given him his liqueur, relocked the cupboard, put the keys back on the table, and is going quietly out of the room; her father’s question is mere family curiosity.

Gwen: Drawing-room—going to read.

[She goes out.

Mrs. Freeman(when the door has closed safely): I’ve got something on my mind, too.

Mr. Freeman: What about?

Mrs. Freeman: About him.

Mr. Freeman: What?

[In answerMrs. Freemangoes to a writing-desk. He continues his own train of thought.

He’s not worth a damn in the office. He could be. (His indignation increases.) He walks in an hour late, he walks out an hour early, and he never walks back at all.... No “whys,” no “wherefores” ... when I think of all that I’ve done for that boy.... (He becomes conscious that the hand that isn’t holding a cigar is holding a letter) ... What’s this?

Mrs. Freeman: Smell it.

Mr. Freeman: Filthy ... what’s wrong with it? ... only scent, isn’t it?

Mrs. Freeman: It isn’t Frankie’s writing.

[Mr. Freemanconsults it.

He left it about ... he’s had others like it ... he’s told Rosie to take them straight upstairs to him.

Mr. Freeman: Rosie tell you?

Mrs. Freeman: I’ve noticed.

Mr. Freeman: What John does in his spare time is nothing to do with me. It’s not his spare time I’m bothered about ... it’s his working life.

Mrs. Freeman: Heisengaged to Frankie ... suppose there should be anything serious with this other girl.

Mr. Freeman: What other girl?

Mrs. Freeman:Somebodywrites those letters.

Mr. Freeman: ... Um.... I shouldn’t worry ... he’s not quite a fool.... Leave it to me. I’ll give him this.

Mrs. Freeman: He’s not happy.

Mr. Freeman: If a man neglects his work as John’s doing, he can’t expect to be happy.

Mrs. Freeman: Has he told you he isn’t going to spend Christmas with us?

Mr. Freeman: Where’s he going...?

Mrs. Freeman: To stay with Mr. ... I don’t know his name ... his friend.

Mr. Freeman: Funny-lookin’ feller ... always in the house.Iknow. That’s another thing; whoisthis feller?... I don’t know.

Mrs. Freeman(taking her son’s part): He’s always had the attic for his own ... hasn’t he? ... with his own friends.

Mr. Freeman: I know. I’ve never interfered. I’ve no wish to interfere ... when he was a baby in the nursery up there—or a schoolboy with his friends, but now ... here’s this feller ... he called yesterday when John was out—I met him on the stairs ... didn’t know him from Adam; we grinned ... dam’ silly.... Hullo!

[There has been a prolonged moaning wailing sound—like the cry of some agonised ghost.Mr. Freemanhurries to the window.

It’s Frankie ... in the new car; with her father. Hullo! How are you! (He waves cordially. The windowbeing shut there it not the remotest chance of his being heard.) Hullo, Frankie ... pretty girl she’s getting. (He comes away from the window.) ’Spose she’s come for John. I shall speak to him to-night, when he comes in.

Mrs. Freeman: I shouldn’t say too much about his friend upstairs.

Mr. Freeman: Um?

Mrs. Freeman: Well, we did make the arrangement he should be private upstairs—as if it were his own flat.

Mr. Freeman: I don’t suppose I’ve been up there for a year.

Mrs. Freeman: Nor have I ... he might take a flat of his own. I shouldn’t like that.

[Rosie,a picturesque little parlour-maid, shows inFrankie Sewell.She is a pretty girl of twenty-four or so, and is very good at tennis and hockey.

Mrs. Freeman: Well, Frankie dear.

Frankie: Good evening, Mrs. Freeman.

[They kiss.

Mr. Freeman: What have you done with your father?

Frankie: He couldn’t come in; he’s going to call back for me.

Mr. Freeman: Your young man isn’t in.

Frankie: Isn’t he?

[Again the cry of the agonised ghost.

Frankie: Your gate’s in awfully good voice to-night.

Mr. Freeman(who has gone to the window): Wants oil.

Frankie(at a bowl of chocolates on the table): May I?

Mrs. Freeman: Of course, dear.

Frankie: Thank you.

Mr. Freeman(back from the window; aside to his wife): It’s John. Take her into the drawing-room.

Mrs. Freeman: Let’s join Gwen, dear. It’s so much nicer in the drawing-room. Bring the chocolates if you like.

Frankie: Oh no, thanks; I’ll take one more, though.

Mr. Freeman: I’ll be with you in a minute.

Mrs. Freeman(usheringFrankieout): Gwen’ll be so pleased. She’s only reading.

[Mr. Freemanrings...Rosieappears.

Mr. Freeman: Mr. John’s just come in. Tell him I want him in here.

Rosie: Yessir.

[She withdraws.[Mr. Freemanwaits.[To him enters his sonJohn;well-dressed in a lounge suit evidently cut by a good West End tailor; well-built, and nice-looking; with a pleasant-sounding voice.

[She withdraws.

[Mr. Freemanwaits.

[To him enters his sonJohn;well-dressed in a lounge suit evidently cut by a good West End tailor; well-built, and nice-looking; with a pleasant-sounding voice.

Mr. Freeman: Come in—I want to speak to you.

[Johncomes in and shuts the door, butMr. Freemandoesn’t speak at once, so, after a moment,Johndoes. He speaks quietly.

John: Whose car’s that outside?

Mr. Freeman: The Sewells’.

John(with quick concern): Is Frankie here?

Mr. Freeman: Yes.

John: Where?

Mr. Freeman: Drawing-room.

John(evidently upset): She said she wasn’t coming round to-night.

Mr. Freeman: You ought to have let your mother know you weren’t coming back to dinner.

John(puzzled): But ... surely ... I thought you were all going out to dinner with the Cleavers.

Mr. Freeman: To-morrow night.

John: I’ve made a mistake.

Mr. Freeman: You have ... had your dinner?

John: Yes.

Mr. Freeman: Restaurant?

John: Yes.

Mr. Freeman: Some girl, I suppose?

John: I was by myself.

Mr. Freeman: Then why on earth didn’t you come home?

[Johndoesn’t answer; after a searching look at him his father continues.

Of course, if you prefer your own company, that’s nothing to do with me, but your life from ten o’clock in the morning till five in the eveningdoesbelong to me. (In answer to a look from his son he expands that.) Itbelongs to the firm. Now look here, young man, I can put this in a nutshell. You’ve been engaged to Frankie some time, on the understanding I make you a junior partner when you marry.

John: Yes.

Mr. Freeman: How much do you get now?

John: You know.

Mr. Freeman: Five hundred a year. A thousand when you marry; and a yearly rise after that. Of course your life belongs to the firm—and will do, more and more. It’s about time you realised that.

John: I realise it all right.

Mr. Freeman: Then I want to know why you left the office an hour before lunch—and never came back after lunch.

John: ... It’s difficult to explain.

Mr. Freeman: I daresay it is; but it’s the sort of thing that’s got to be explained.

John: I don’t think you understand.

Mr. Freeman: I daresay I shan’t—but I’ll have a dam’ good try. I’m not quite a fool, though you think I am ... any other man employed in the firm who did what you’ve done to-day without good reason would get the sack. I want to know your reason. Exactly.

John: It will sound very trivial.

Mr. Freeman: That doesn’t matter ... I’m waiting.

John: I’m trying to write.

Mr. Freeman: What d’you mean—“write”?

John: Articles; and a book——

Mr. Freeman: What about?

John: ... the world in general.

Mr. Freeman: What for?

John: I want to. I got stuck—this morning in the office, I got an idea that I thought might unstick me ... I only meant to go out for a walk for a few minutes, but it came so clear in my head that I came home and worked.

Mr. Freeman: You were playing the piano.

John: Strumming between whiles.

Mr. Freeman: I see ... now look here ... I’ve got no objection to your writing articles, or whatever it is and strumming on the piano—it’s a very nice thing to be able to do ... these things may be all very well in their place—but their place is not the best working hours of your life ... that’s what you’ve got to understand. Now, listen to me, my boy, you’ve got aniche.

John: I’ve got a what?

Mr. Freeman: A NICHE—will you please not laugh.

John: I beg your pardon; it sounded comic.

Mr. Freeman: Well, it isn’t comic. You’ve got a very pretty little income waiting for you; and a prettier little wife, but if you think you’re going to inherit the whole show mooning away a few hours at the office, when it happens to suit you, because I and others workhard for you there all day—and have done for the best part of our lives—you’re vastly mistaken. The business is your bread and butter; your life; and you’ve got to give the best part of your life to it; you get an idea in your head, and that Robinson contract cropped up in the afternoon, and you precious nearly lost the firm a thousand pounds ... what have you got to say to that?

[The atmosphere is changing; the argument is degenerating into the family row.

Well, what have you got to say to that?

John: This afternoon my own work seemed most important.

Mr. Freeman: You’re a perfect dam’ fool:work! You’ve got no sense of values.

John: We’ve adifferentsense of values.

Mr. Freeman: I’m not going to argue. It’s not going to happen again; do you grasp that?

John: Need we discuss it to-night?

Mr. Freeman: There’s no discussing to be done.

John: I’m sorry. I see your point of view.

Mr. Freeman: That’s splendid.

John: But——

Mr. Freeman: But what?

[The wailing gate intervenes—Johnhurries to the window.

Mr. Freeman: Who’s that?

John: For me.

[Mr. Freemangoes to the window to look.

Mr. Freeman: Whoisthis feller?

John: He’s part of my private life....

Mr. Freeman: I daresay—but I can’t have your private life swarming all over my house. I can’t walk out of a room without falling over a perfect stranger.

John(going to the door, opening, and speaking out of it): Rosie ... show my friend in here, please.

Mr. Freeman: I’ve never interfered; I’ve no wish to interfere, but——

[Rosieshows in the gentleman;Mr. Freemanhaving his back to the door goes on talking.

——hang it all, if this feller’s going to spend half his time under my roof, I might at least know what to call him when we bump in the passage——

John: Let me introduce you—Colin Mackenzie ... my father.

Mr. Freeman: Oh!... How d’you do? How d’you do? (He shakes hands.) Glad to make your acquaintance. I was just telling my boy here, I should like to—one likes to show a little decent hospitality.

Colin: Thank you.

Mr. Freeman: Sit down, won’t you, sit down.

Colin: Thank you.

[A little silence.

John: I believe you saw Colin’s play the other night ... didn’t you go to the Criterion?—“A Pair of Pyjamas”——

Mr. Freeman: Yes?

John: The author!

Mr. Freeman: Really!? By jove ... did you really write it?

Colin: Yes.

Mr. Freeman: By jove yes ... my wife and I enjoyed it immensely ... most amusin’ ...mostamusin’.... By jove! ... it’s a great success, isn’t it?

Colin: It’s been on some time.

John: A year;andin America;andthree touring companies;andin the colonies;andthe world’s film rights.

Mr. Freeman(offering the box of cigars): Try one o’ these?

Colin: Thanks.

Mr. Freeman: Have a drink?

Colin: No, thanks.

Mr. Freeman: Wouldn’t you like to come into the drawing-room? ... my wife would be delighted to meet you ... she really did enjoy it immensely—very funny—very funny indeed—immensely.

John(cutting in): I’m going to take him upstairs. He’s been away and I’ve been away; we haven’t seen one another for months.

Mr. Freeman(rising): Well, I’m glad to have met you. I hope you’ll look in again one evening.

Colin(rising to shake hands): Thank you.

Mr. Freeman(going): See you again, John ... don’t forget Frankie’s here. Good night.

Colin: Good night.

[Mr. Freemangoes.

John(at once): Come upstairs.

Colin: I can’t stay. I want to borrow your score of the new ballet. At least Margaret does. I’m taking her to hear it.

John: It’s upstairs.

Colin: They’re doing it last. I needn’t go for a few minutes.

John: Then you’d better have a drink.

Colin: Right.

John: Whiskey?

Colin: Thanks.

John: Have a good holiday?

Colin: Yes.

John: It’s nearly three months since I’ve seen you. How’s life?

Colin: Very good. (He gets his drink.) Thanks. And with you?

John: Rotten.

Colin: Why?

John(with some deliberation): We only have a certain amount of energy and vitality in us, Colin; and I’m using mine up on things that are utterly unimportant.

Colin: The same tack you were on last time I saw you?

John: Yes.

Colin: You’re not going to get much sympathy out of me.

John: Oh! ... why?

Colin: John! You can overdo ideals ... they can make one rather useless and a little bit silly.... I’ve been thinking about you a good deal while I’ve been away.... I’d made up my mind to tell you what I thought of you one of these days.

John: Now, please. I’m in no mood to wait.

Colin: Well——

John: Come on; out with it; what have you been thinking? What’s wrong with me?

[There is a certain eager impatience in his manner.

Colin: Well—to be quite frank with you—I think all this talk about the business being a waste of your life is rather stupid. The world’s in a devil of a mess; we’re all living on a volcano; but, as far as one can be sure of anything, your business is sure; you get a very good screw; you get all your evenings to yourself; in a world where ninety per cent of people are continually anxious about their livelihood, your comfort and comparative wealth are assured. You’re a damned lucky man, John, and you’ve got no right to go about grousing about yourself.

John: Can I be quite frank answering that?

Colin: Of course.

John: There’s one big difference between us.

Colin: Yes?

John: It’s difficult to say.

Colin: Don’t be a fool.

John: You never went into the trenches.

[This causes a sudden stoppage in the dialogue, momentary but the severance is complete; it doesn’t go on in quite the same tone afterwards.

Colin: No. I agree to that difference—very humbly; but I don’t see what difference that makes about the business.

John: It makes the hell of a difference tome... it’s hateful to talk about it ... but there it is.

Colin(gently): I’m interested.

John(responding): There were several of us, Colin, who used to talk about the whole thing out there; I mean, why the whole thing had happened, and what we were going to do about it when it was over ... a good many of us to start with ... we got fewer; the lucky ones were killed outright. Jack Bardsley got half his face blown away andcan’ttalk now; Peter Glen’s blind; Chris—Chris was engaged to a most attractive girl ... he was mad about her ... used to talk to her at night ... I heard him once, when he thought I was asleep—he got a bit of shrapnel in his stomach and thighs, and had to be cut away. He never married. Little Westerby’s mad.... I’m the only one left.... Sometimes I think I’ve got no right to be alive at all, Colin—just a fluke ... there are millions of my age, skull and bone and rotting flesh just under the earth over there....

[Colinhas no answer ... the short silence is tense ... then he goes on more calmly.

If the war hadn’t happened I should have married Frankie; and gone into the business, and settled down to it ... but Ican’tjust go on using my life up aimlessly—or what seems to me aimlessly, as if nothing had happened ... to hear them talk—father and his lot, you’d think nothing had happened—my God!

It’s hard to talk about it; it’s hard to feel a thing very deeply, and talk about it, and not sound priggish; but I must talk to somebody; you’re the only one.

Colin: Thank you.

John: You’re an idealist, really. You wrote “A Pair of Pyjamas,” and you’ve made the devil of a lot of money, but you know the real worth of things; that’s why you get angry with me when I still care about ideals; it makes you uncomfortable; and you hate being uncomfortable, because you’ve made too much money.

Colin: I shall have another of your drinks and then I shall go.

John: For the love of God, don’t! Not till you need. Colin, things can’t go on like they are with me, I want your advice.

Colin: Are you doing any writing?

John: Yes; of course.

Colin: You ought to stick to the business, and do your own work in the evenings.

John: ... We fought like hell out there all day and all night; we didn’t just let off a few guns in the evenings, as a sort of hobby, after we’d spent the day doing something else. If we’re going to have any sort of world for our children after those years of bloody slaughter,it seems to me we’ve got to fight like hell all the time now. It’s no good writing anything unconsidered these days. One must read, and think, and meet people, and be quiet.... You can’t serve God and Mammon. There are some jolly good things in that book; Colin, it’s dreadful to spend one’s best energies doing something, when you feel you ought to be doing something else.

Colin: You’ve got an Urge.

John: I’ve got something horrible. My father told me it was a Niche: you say it’s a Nurge!

Colin: It’s what Quakers get. The spirit urges and they feel wicked if they don’t follow.

John: I feel miserable.

Colin: Same thing.

John: And, incidentally, while I mess on day after day, I’m getting my life into more of a muddle. I feel a cad about Frankie, and I feel a cad about Toby; I really don’t know what I ought to do about either of them.

Colin: You’re engaged to Frankie?

John: Before I went to France. The daughter of my father’s partner; both families delighted; and they’ve all taken it up at the point where it was left off as if it was just the same; it isn’t, nothing’s just the same ... for one thing when I was engaged I was innocent ... quite ... one learnt more than soldiering in France.

Colin: I don’t know why you should putthatdown to the war—it happens to some of us even in peace time.

John: It complicates things.

Colin: How?

John: In the old days Frankie and I used to go about together a lot—like any respectably engaged couple.

Colin: Yes?

John: I used to take her to the theatre, and straight back to her house afterwards; her mother couldn’t sleep unless she knew Frankie was in; and I always said good night to her on her doorstep with a kiss—quite a nice one, but perfectly respectable.

Colin: Yes.

John: That was all. I don’t say I never wanted any more. However, I didn’t expect any more; I didn’t know any more, and I was quite ready to go on like that till we were married.

Colin: Yes?

John: I was terrified of getting killed in France before I’d had any experience at all.

Colin: Yes.

John: Just before an attack, when I was quite sure I was going to get knocked out, I went off the deep end and had my experience.

Colin: Yes.

John: Then we attacked ... it was funny; I remember feeling very proud of myself—and I didn’t get knocked out. Afterwards I thought a great deal about that first little French girl, and about Frankie; and one night I realised I loved Frankie desperately, because I wanted her like that; and because of Frankie I kept clear of any more of it.... I just lived for my next leave, and the moment when I should see Frankie again ...and the first time we were alone again—it was in this room—I was standing over there and she came in, and came towards me and I went to meet her, and I put my arms round her and held her close—closer than I’d ever done before. My God, I loved her that moment....

Colin: Yes?

John: She pushed me away. She hardly said anything; but she made me feel that she was a little angry and a little indignant—I’ve never felt such a fool in my life ... before I went back to the front that leave, I’d met Toby.

Colin: I remember. You still see her?

John: Sometimes. She’s coming here to-night.

Colin: Here!

John: Upstairs. It’s like my own flat, you know.

Colin: Yes—but....

John: I know. But I was certain they were all going out to dinner. And she’s always wanted to see the attic; and they haven’t gone out; and now Frankie’s turned up!

Colin: Frankie!

John: Yes; she’s in the drawing-room; I’m worried.

Colin: I’m not surprised.

John: I’m desperately anxious to get Toby up there without her meeting anybody. It’s an underhand business; it’s got to stop. (He is troubled.) They’ve never been so close; in any sort of way.... Colin, I don’t make love to Frankie; not at all; she doesn’t seem to want it.

Colin: Are you sure?

John: Yes, I think so; that’s the trouble. I never get anyresponsefrom her. It makes me rather uncomfortable with her, and shy! She doesn’t seem to miss anything ... but, unless, in my marriage, that part of it is as perfect, and as beautiful as ... as Toby has taught me it can be, my marriage will be a failure. I’m getting afraid it isn’t in Frankie.

Colin: It may be. You never can tell.

John: And it may not be ... a mistaken marriage messes up two lives at least.

Colin: But they’re not uncommon.

John: It’s silly, isn’t it?

Colin: But there it is.

John: Do you know what I believe Ioughtto do?

Colin: What?

John: Go to Frankie and either break off our engagement, or else ask her to come away with me somewhere.... I’m perfectly serious; you may say “There it is ... it’s the way Civilisation has always managed it.” Civilisation made millions of young people kill and maim and torture one another for five bloody years—there’s something wrong with Civilisation. I don’t mean that because a thing was there before the war itmustbe wrong—but itmaybe ... a good many things have got to be thought out again from the beginning—this business of marriage is one of them.

Colin: Have you said anything about it to her?

John: No.

Colin: Why don’t you?

[Gwencomes quickly into the room.

Gwen: Oh! sorry; I thought you were upstairs.

John: Come in. You do know one another, don’t you?

Colin: Yes. We’ve met. How d’you do?

[They shake hands.

John: I’ll get that score. (He moves to the door.)

Colin(toGwen): I wonder if you remember where we met?

Gwen: Quite well; at a concert; you were very nice to me.

Colin: I’m very glad.

Gwen: A man played some very modern music—and you asked me what I thought of it; I didn’t like it a bit really, but I didn’t like to say so; and you said it was the sort of music one never ought to hear for the first time.

Colin: Not such a bad remark; I wonder where I heard it ... do you play and sing, and have your brother’s accomplishments?

Gwen: I don’t do anything.

John(who has stopped to select a fruit from the table—as he disappears): Painting’s Gwen’s forte.

Colin: Painting?

Gwen: I’ve given it up....

Colin: Why?

Gwen: I don’t know.

Colin: I should like to see something of yours.

Gwen: That’s mine. (She indicates a little painting on the wall that is hung close to another.... He goes to it.) I was very young.

Colin: It’s very good.

Gwen: I used to love painting.

Colin(moving to the other picture): This yours too?

Gwen: No; that’s by ... somebody else.

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