THE FOURTH ACT

edward.Shall I do this?

alice.[turning away.] Why must you ask me?

edward.You mocked at my principles, didn't you? You've taken them from me. The least you can do is to give me advice in exchange.

alice.[after a moment.] No . . decide for yourself.

He jumps up and begins to pace about, doubtful, distressed.

edward.Good Lord . . it means lying and shuffling!

alice.[a little trembling.] In a good cause.

edward.Ah . . but lying and shuffling takes the fine edge off one's soul.

alice.[laughing at the quaintness of her own little epigram.] Edward, are you one of God's dandies?

edward.And . . Alice, it wouldn't be easy work. It wants qualities I haven't got. I should fail.

alice.Would you?

He catches a look from her.

edward.Well, I might not.

alice.And you don't need success for a lure. That's like a common man.

edward.You want me to try to do this?

For answer, she dares only put out her hand, and he takes it.

alice.Oh, my dear . . cousin!

edward.[excitedly.] My people will have to hold their tongues. I needn't have told them all this to-day.

alice.Don't tell them the rest . . they won't understand. I shall be jealous if you tell them.

edward.[looking at her as she at him.] Well, you've the right to be. This deed . . it's not done yet . . is your property.

alice.Thank you. I've always wanted to have something useful to my credit . . and I'd almost given up hoping.

Then suddenly his face changes, his voice changes and he grips the hand he is holding so tightly as to hurt her.

edward.Alice, if my father's story were true . . he must have begun like this. Trying to do the right thing in the wrong way . . then doing the wrong thing . . then bringing himself to what he was . . and so me to this. [he flings away from her.] No, Alice, I won't do it. I daren't take that first step down. It's a worse risk than any failure. Think . . I might succeed.

alicestands very still, looking at him.

alice.It's a big risk. Well . . I'll take it.

He turns to her, in wonder.

edward.You?

alice.I'll risk your becoming a bad man. That's a big risk for me.

He understands, and is calmed and made happy.

edward.Then there is no more to be said, is there?

alice.Not now. [as she drops this gentle hint she hears something—the hall door opening.] Here's Booth back again.

edward.[with a really mischievous grin.] He'll be so glad he's convinced me.

alice.I must go back to Honor, poor girl. I wonder she has a tear left.

She leaves him, briskly, brightly; leaves her cousin with his mouth set and a light in his eyes.

mr. voysey'sroom at the office isedward'snow. It has somehow lost that brilliancy which the old man's occupation seemed to give it. Perhaps it is only because this December morning is dull and depressing, but the fire isn't bright and the panels and windows don't shine as they did. There are no roses on the table either.edward,walking in as his father did, hanging his hat and coat where his father's used to hang, is certainly the palest shadow of that other masterful presence. A depressed, drooping shadow too. This may be whatpeaceyfeels, if no more, for he looks very surly as he obeys the old routine of following his chief to this room on his arrival. Nor hasedwardso much as a glance for his clerk. They exchange the formalest of greetings.edwardsits joylessly to his desk, on which the morning's pile of letters lies, unopened now.

peacey.Good morning, sir.

edward.Good morning, Peacey. Have you any notes for me?

peacey.Well, I've hardly been through the letters yet, sir.

edward.[his eyebrows meeting.] Oh . . and I'm half an hour late myself this morning.

peacey.I'm very sorry, sir.

edward.If Mr. Bullen calls you had better show him all those papers I gave you. Write to Metcalfe as soon as possible; say I interviewed Mr. Vickery myself this morning and the houses will not be proceeded with. Better let me see the letter.

peacey.Very good, sir.

edward.That's all, thank you.

peaceygets to the door, where he stops, looking not only surly but nervous now.

peacey.May I speak to you a moment, sir?

edward.Certainly.

peacey,after a moment, makes an effort, purses his mouth and begins.

peacey.Bills are beginning to come in upon me as is usual at this season, sir. My son's allowance at Cambridge is now rather a heavy item of my expenditure. I hope that the custom of the firm isn't to be neglected now that you are the head of it, Mr. Edward. Two hundred your father always made it at Christmas . . in notes if you please.

Towards the end of thisedwardbegins to pay great attention. When he answers his voice is harsh.

edward.Oh, to be sure . . your hush money.

peacey.[bridling.] That's not a very pleasant word.

edward.This is a very unpleasant subject.

peacey.I'm sure it isn't my wish to bring out in cold conversation what I know of the firm's position. Your father always gave me the notes in an envelope when he shook hands with me at Christmas.

edward.[blandly.] And I've been waiting for you to ask me.

peacey.Well, we'll say no more about it. There's always a bit of friction in coming to an understanding about anything, isn't there, sir?

He is going whenedward'squestion stops him.

edward.Why didn't you speak to me about this last Christmas?

peacey.I knew you were upset at your father's death.

edward.No, no, my father died the August before that.

peacey.Well . . truthfully, Mr. Edward?

edward.As truthfully as you think suitable.

The irony of this is wasted onpeacey,who becomes pleasantly candid.

peacey.Well, I couldn't make you out last Christmas. I'd always thought there must be a smash when your father died . . but it didn't come. But then again at Christmas you seemed all on edge and I didn't know what might happen. So I thought I'd better keep quiet and say nothing.

edward.I see. This little pull of yours over the firm is an inheritance from your father, isn't it?

peacey.[discreetly.] When he retired, sir, he said to me . . I've told the Governor you know what I know. And Mr. Voysey said to me . . I treat you as I did your father, Peacey. I never had another word on the subject with him.

edward.A very decent arrangement. Your son's at Cambridge you say, Peacey?

peacey.Yes.

edward.I wonder you didn't bring him into the firm.

peacey.[taking this very kind.] Thank you, sir . . I thought of it. But then I thought that two generations going in for this sort of thing was enough.

edward.That's a matter of taste.

peacey.And then, sir . . I don't want to hurt your feelings, but things simply cannot go on for ever. The marvel to me is that the game has been kept up as it has. So now, if he does well at Cambridge, I hope he'll go to the bar. He has a distinct talent for patiently applying himself to the details of a thing.

edward.I hope he'll do well. I'm glad to have had this talk with you, Peacey. I'm sorry you can't have the money you want.

He returns to his letters, a little steely-eyed.peaceyquite at his ease, makes for the door yet again, saying. .

peacey.Oh, any time will do, sir.

edward.You can't have the money at all.

peacey.[brought up short.] Can't I?

edward.[very decidedly indeed.] No . . I made up my mind about that eighteen months ago. Since my father's death the trust business of the firm has not been conducted as it was formerly. We no longer make illicit profits out of our clients. There are none for you to share.

Having thus given the explanation he considers due, he goes on with his work. Butpeaceyhas flushed up.

peacey.Look here, Mr. Edward, I'm sorry I began this discussion. You'll give me my two hundred as usual, please, and we'll drop the subject.

edward.By all means drop the subject.

peacey.[his voice rising sharply.] I want the money. I think it is not gentlemanly in you, Mr. Edward, to make these excuses to try to get out of paying it me. Your father would never have made such an excuse.

edward.[flabbergasted.] Do you think I'm lying to you?

peacey.[with a deprecating swallow.] I don't wish to criticise your statements or your actions at all, sir. It was no concern of mine how your father treated his clients.

edward.I understand. And now it's no concern of yours how honest I am. You want your money just the same.

peacey.Well, don't be sarcastic . . a man does get used to a state of affairs whatever it may be.

edward.[with considerable force.] My friend, if I drop sarcasm I shall have to tell you very candidly what I think of you.

peacey.That I'm a thief because I've taken money from a thief!

edward.Worse than a thief. You're content that others should steal for you.

peacey.And who isn't?

edwardis really pleased with the aptness of this. He at once changes his tone, which indeed had become rather bullying.

edward.Ah, Peacey, I perceive that you study sociology. Well, that's too big a question to enter into now. The application of the present portion of it is that I have for the moment, at some inconvenience to myself, ceased to receive stolen goods and therefore am in a position to throw a stone at you. I have thrown it.

peacey,who would far sooner be bullied than talked to like this, turns very sulky.

peacey.And now I'm to leave the firm, I suppose?

edward.Not unless you wish.

peacey.I happen to think the secret's worth its price.

edward.Perhaps someone will pay it you.

peacey.[feebly threatening.] You're presuming upon its not being worth my while to make use of what I know.

edward.[not unkindly.] My good Peacey, it happens to be the truth I told you just now. Well, how on earth do you suppose you can successfully blackmail a man, who has so much to gain by exposure and so little to lose as I?

peacey.[peeving.] I don't want to ruin you, sir, and I have a great regard for the firm . . but you must see that I can't have my income reduced in this way without a struggle.

edward.[with great cheerfulness.] Very well, my friend, struggle away.

peacey.[his voice rising high and thin.] For one thing, sir, I don't think it fair dealing on your part to dock the money suddenly. I have been counting on it most of the year, and I have been led into heavy expenses. Why couldn't you have warned me?

edward.That's true, Peacey, it was stupid of me. I apologise for the mistake.

peaceyis a little comforted by this quite candid acknowledgment.

peacey.Perhaps things may be easier for you by next Christmas.

edward.I hope so.

peacey.Then . . perhaps you won't be so particular.

At this gentle insinuationedwardlooks up exasperated.

edward.So you don't believe what I told you?

peacey.Yes, I do.

edward.Then you think that the fascination of swindling one's clients will ultimately prove irresistible?

peacey.It's what happened to your father, I suppose you know.

This givesedwardsuch pause that he drops his masterful tone.

edward.I didn't.

peacey.He got things as right as rain once.

edward.Did he?

peacey.. . My father told me. Then he started again.

edward.But how did you find that out?

peacey.[expanding pleasantly.] Well, being so long in his service, I grew to understand your father. But when I first came into the firm, I simply hated him. He was that sour; so snappy with everyone . . as if he had a grievance against the whole world.

edward.[pensively.] It seems he had in those days.

peacey.Well, as I said, his dealings with his clients were no business of mine. And I speak as I find. He was very kind to me . . always thoughtful and considerate. He grew to be so pleasant and generous to everyone—

edward.That you have great hopes of me yet?

peacey.[who has a simple mind.] No, Mr. Edward, no. You're different from your father . . one must make up one's mind to that. And you may believe me or notbut I should be very glad to know that the firm was solvent and going straight. There have been times when I have sincerely regretted my connection with it. If you'll let me say so, I think it's very noble of you to have undertaken the work you have. [then, as everything seems smooth again.] And Mr. Edward, if you'll give me enough to cover this year's extra expense I think I may promise you that I shan't expect money again.

edward.[good-tempered, as he would speak to an importunate child.] No, Peacey, no!

peacey.[fretful again.] Well, sir, you make things very difficult for me.

edward.Here's a letter from Mr. Cartwright which you might attend to. If he wants an appointment with me, don't make one till the New Year. His case can't come on before February.

peacey.[taking the letter.] I am anxious to meet you in every way—[he is handed another.]

edward."Perceval Building Estate" . . that's yours too.

peacey.[putting them both down resolutely.] But I refuse to be ignored. I must consider my whole position. I hope I may not be tempted to make use of the power I possess. But if I am driven to proceed to extremities . .

edward.[breaking in upon this bunch of tags.] My dear Peacey, don't talk nonsense . . you couldn't proceed to an extremity to save your life. You've taken this money irresponsibly for all these years. You'll find you're no longer capable even of such a responsible act as tripping up your neighbour.

This does completely upset the gentle blackmailer. He loses one grievance in another.

peacey.Really, Mr. Edward, I am a considerably older man than you, and I think that whatever our positions—

edward.Don't let us argue, Peacey. You're quiteat liberty to do whatever you think worth your while.

peacey.It isn't that, sir. But these personalities—

edward.Oh . . I apologise. Don't forget the letters.

peacey.I will not, sir.

He takes them with great dignity and is leaving the room.

peacey.Here's Mr. Hugh waiting.

edward.To see me? Ask him in.

peacey.Come in, Mr. Hugh, please.

hughcomes in,peaceyholding the door for him with a frigid politeness of which he is quite oblivious. At this final slightpeaceygoes out in dudgeon.

edward.How are you, Hugh?

hugh.Good Lord!

And he throws himself into the chair by the fire.edwardquite used to this sort of thing, goes quietly on with his work, adding encouragingly after a moment. .

edward.How's Beatrice?

hugh.She's very busy.

He studies his boots with the gloomiest expression. And indeed, they are very dirty and his turned up trousers are muddy at the edge. They are dark trousers and well cut, but he wears with them a loose coat and waistcoat of a peculiar light brown check. Add to this the roughest of overcoats and a very soft hat. Add also the fact that he doesn't shave well or regularly and that his hair wants cutting, andhugh'sappearance this morning is described. As he is quite capable of sitting silently by the fire for a whole morningedwardasks him at last. .

edward.What d'you want?

hugh.[with vehemence.] I want a machine gun planted in Regent Street . . and one in the Haymarket . . and one in Leicester Square and one in the Strand . . and a dozen in the City. An earthquake would be simpler. Orwhy not a nice clean tidal wave? It's no good preaching and patching up any longer, Edward. We must begin afresh. Don't you feel, even in your calmer moments, that this whole country is simply hideous? The other nations must look after themselves. I'm patriotic . . I only ask that we should be destroyed.

edward.It has been promised.

hugh.I'm sick of waiting. [then asedwardsays nothing.] You say this is the cry just of the weak man in despair! I wouldn't be anything but a weak man in this world. I wouldn't be a king, I wouldn't be rich . . I wouldn't be a Borough Councillor . . I should be so ashamed. I've walked here this morning from Hampstead. I started to curse because the streets were dirty. You'd think that an Empire could keep its streets clean! But then I saw that the children were dirty too.

edward.That's because of the streets.

hugh.Yes, it's holiday time. Those that can cross a road safely are doing some work now . . earning some money. You'd think a governing race, grabbing responsibilities, might care for its children.

edward.Come, we educate them now. And I don't think many work in holiday time.

hugh.[encouraged by contradiction.] We teach them all that we're not ashamed of . . and much that we ought to be . . and the rest they find out for themselves. Oh, every man and woman I met was muddy eyed! They'd joined the great conspiracy which we call our civilization. They've been educated! They believe in the Laws and the Money-market and Respectability. Well, at least they suffer for their beliefs. But I'm glad I don't make the laws . . and that I haven't any money . . and that I hate respectability . . or I should be so ashamed. By the bye, that's what I've come for.

edward.[pleasantly.] What? I thought you'd only come to talk.

hugh.You must take that money of mine for your clients. Of course you ought to have had it when you asked for it. It has never belonged to me. Well . . it has never done me any good. I have never made any use of it and so it has been just a clog to my life.

edward.[surprised.] My dear Hugh . . this is very generous of you.

hugh.Not a bit. I only want to start fresh and free.

edward.[sitting back from his work.] Hugh, do you really think that money has carried a curse with it?

hugh.[with great violence.] Think! I'm the proof of it and look at me. When I said I'd be an artist the governor gave me a hundred and fifty a year . . the rent of a studio and the price of a velvet coat he thought it; that was all he knew about art. Then my respectable training got me engaged and married. Marriage in a studio puzzled the governor, so he guessed it attwohundred and fifty a year . . and looked for lay figure-babies, I suppose. What had I to do with Art? Nothing I've done yet but reflects our drawing-room at Chislehurst.

edward.[considering.] Yes . . What do you earn in a year? I doubt if you can afford to give this up.

hugh.Oh, Edward . . you clank the chain with the best of them. That word Afford! I want to be free from my advantages. Don't you see I must find out what I'm worth in myself . . whether I even exist or not? Perhaps I'm only a pretence of a man animated by an income.

edward.But you can't return to nature on the London pavements.

hugh.No. Nor in England at all . . it's nothing but a big back garden. [now he collects himself for a final outburst.] But if there's no place on this earth where a man can prove his right to live by some other means than robbing his neighbour . . I'd better go and request thenext horse I meet to ride me . . to the nearest lunatic asylum.

edwardwaits till the effects of this explosion are over.

edward.And what does Beatrice say to your emigrating to the backwoods . . if that is exactly what you mean?

hugh.Now that we're separating—

edward.[taken aback.] What?

hugh.We mean to separate.

edward.This is the first I've heard of it.

hugh.Beatrice is making some money by her books, so it has become possible.

edward.[humorously.] Have you told anyone yet?

hugh.We mean to now. I think a thing comes to pass quicker in public.

edward.Say nothing at home until after Christmas.

hugh.Oh Lord, I forgot! They'll discuss it solemnly. [then he whistles.] Emily knows!

edward.[having considered.] I shan't accept this money from you . . there's no need. All the good has been done that I wanted to do. No one will be beggared now. So why should you be?

hugh.[with clumsy affection.] We've taken a fine lot of interest in your labours, haven't we, Hercules?

edward.You hold your tongue about the office affairs, don't you? It's not safe.

hugh.When will you be quit of the beastly business?

edward.[becoming reserved and cold at once.] I'm in no hurry.

hugh.What do you gain by hanging on now?

edward.Occupation.

hugh.But, Edward, it must be an awfully wearying state of things. I suppose any moment a policeman may knock at the door . . so to speak?

edward.[appreciating the figure of speech.] Anymoment. I take no precautions. I suppose that's why he doesn't come. At first I listened for him, day by day. Then I said to myself . . next week. But a year has gone by and more. I've ceased expecting to hear the knock at all.

hugh.But look here . . is all this worth while?

edward.[supremely ironical.] My dear Hugh, what a silly question!

hugh.[very seriously.] But have you the right to make a mean thing of your life like this?

edward.Does my life matter?

hugh.Well . . of course!

edward.I find no evidence to convince me of it. The World that you talk about so finely is using me up. A little wantonly . . a little needlessly, I do think. But she knows her own damn business . . or so she says, if you try to teach it her. And why should I trouble to fit myself for better work than she has given me to do . . nursing fools' money?

hugh.[responding at once to this vein.] Edward, we must turn this world upside down. It's her stupidity that drives me mad. We all want a lesson in values. We're never taught what is worth having and what isn't. Why should your real happiness be sacrificed to the sham happiness which people have invested in the firm?

edward.I suppose their money means such happiness to them as they understand.

hugh.Then we want another currency. We must learn to express ourselves in terms of vitality. There can be no other standard of worth in life, can there? I never believed that money was valuable. I remember once giving a crossing sweeper a sovereign. The sovereign was nothing. But the sensation I gave him was an intrinsically valuable thing.

He is fearfully pleased with his essay in philosophy.

edward.He could buy other sensations with the sovereign.

hugh.But none like the first. [then the realities of life overwhelm him again.] And yet . . we're slaves! Beatrice won't let me go until we're each certain of two hundred a year. And she's quite right . . I should only get into debt. You know that two fifty a year of mine is a hundred and eighty now.

edward.[mischievous.] Why would you invest sensationally?

hugh.[with great seriousness.] I put money into things which I know ought to succeed . .

The telephone rings.edwardspeaks through it.

edward.Certainly . . bring him in. [then to his brother, who sits on the table idly disarranging everything.] You'll have to go now, Hugh.

hugh.[shaking his head gloomily.] You're one of the few people I can talk to, Edward.

edward.I like listening.

hugh.[as much cheered as surprised.] Do you! I suppose I talk a lot of rot . . but . .

In comes oldmr. george booth,older too in looks than he was eighteen months back. Very dandyishly dressed, he still seems by no means so happy as his clothes might be making him.

mr. booth.'Ullo, Hugh! I thought I should find you, Edward.

edward.[formally.] Good morning, Mr. Booth.

hugh.[as he collects his hat, his coat, his various properties.] Well . . Beatrice and I go down to Chislehurst to-morrow. I say . . d'you know that old Nursie is furious with you about something?

edward.[shortly.] Yes, I know. Good bye.

hugh.How are you?

He launches this enquiry atmr. boothwith great suddenness just as he leaves the room. The oldgentleman jumps; then jumps again at the slam of the door. And then he frowns atedwardin a frightened sort of way.

edward.Will you come here . . or will you sit by the fire?

mr. booth.This'll do. I shan't detain you long.

He takes the chair by the table and occupies the next minute or two, carefully disposing of his hat and gloves.

edward.Are you feeling all right again?

mr. booth.A bit dyspeptic. How are you?

edward.Quite well, thanks.

mr. booth.I'm glad . . I'm glad. [he now proceeds to cough a little, hesitating painfully.] I'm afraid this isn't very pleasant business I've come upon.

edward.D'you want to go to Law with anyone?

mr. booth.No . . oh, no. I'm getting too old to quarrel.

edward.A pleasant symptom.

mr. booth.[with a final effort.] I mean to withdraw my securities from the custody of your firm . . [and he adds apologetically] with the usual notice, of course.

It would be difficult to describe whatedwardfeels at this moment. Perhaps something of the shock that the relief of death may be as an end to pain so long endured that it has been half forgotten. He answers very quietly, without a sign of emotion.

edward.Thank you . . May one ask why?

mr. booth.[relieved that the worst is over.] Certainly . . certainly. My reason is straightforward and simple and well considered. I think you must know, Edward, I have never been able to feel that implicit confidence in your ability which I had in your father's. Well, it is hardly to be expected, is it?

edward.[with a grim smile.] No.

mr. booth.I can say that without unduly depreciatingyou. Men like your father are few and far between. As far as I know things proceed at this office as they have always done but . . since his death I have not been happy about my affairs.

edward.[speaking as it is his duty to.] I think you need be under no apprehension . .

mr. booth.I daresay not. But that isn't the point. Now, for the first time in my long life I am worried about money affairs; and I don't like the feeling. The possession of money has always been a pleasure to me . . and for what are perhaps my last years I don't wish that to be otherwise. You must remember you have practically my entire property unreservedly in your control.

edward.Perhaps we can arrange to hand you over the reins to an extent which will ease your mind, and at the same time not . .

mr. booth.I thought of that. Believe me, I have every wish not to slight unduly your father's son. I have not moved in the matter for eighteen months. I have not been able to make up my mind to. Really, one feels a little helpless . . and the transaction of business requires more energy than . . But I saw my doctor yesterday, Edward, and he told me . . well, it was a warning. And so I felt it my duty at once to . . especially as I made up my mind to it some time ago. [he comes to the end of this havering at last and adds.] In point of fact, Edward, more than a year before your father died I had quite decided that my affairs could never be with you as they were with him.

edwardstarts almost out of his chair; his face pale, his eyes black.

edward.Did he know that?

mr. booth.[resenting this new attitude.] I think I never said it in so many words. But he may easily have guessed.

edward.[as he relaxes and turns, almost shuddering,from the possibility of dreadful knowledge.] No . . no . . he never guessed. [Then, with a sudden fresh impulse.] I hope you won't do this, Mr. Booth.

mr. booth.I have quite made up my mind.

edward.You must let me persuade you—

mr. booth.[conciliatory.] I shall make a point of informing your family that you are in no way to blame in the matter. And in the event of any personal legal difficulties I shall always be delighted to come to you. My idea is for the future to employ merely a financial agent—

edward.[still quite unstrung really, and his nerves betraying him.] If you had made up your mind before my father died to do this, you ought to have toldhim.

mr. booth.Please allow me to know my own business best. I did not choose to distress him by—

edward.[pulling himself together: speaking half to himself.] Well . . well . . this is one way out. And it's not my fault.

mr. booth.You're making a fearful fuss about a very simple matter, Edward. The loss of one client, however important he may be . . Why, this is one of the best family practices in London. I am surprised at your lack of dignity.

edwardyields smilingly to this assertiveness.

edward.True . . I have no dignity. Will you walk off with your papers now?

mr. booth.What notice is usual?

edward.To a good solicitor, five minutes. Ten to a poor one.

mr. booth.You'll have to explain matters a bit to me.

Nowedwardsettles to his desk again; really with a certain grim enjoyment of the prospect.

edward.Yes, I had better. Well, Mr. Booth, how much do you think you're worth?

mr. booth.[easily.] I couldn't say off hand.

edward.But you've a rough idea?

mr. booth.To be sure.

edward.You'll get not quite half that out of us.

mr. booth.[precisely.] I think I said I had made up my mind to withdraw the whole amount.

edward.You should have made up your mind sooner.

mr. booth.I don't in the least understand you, Edward.

edward.A great part of your capital doesn't exist.

mr. booth.[with some irritation.] Nonsense, it must exist. [He scansedward'sset face in vain.] You mean that it won't be prudent to realise? You can hand over the securities. I don't want to reinvest simply because—

edward.I can't hand over what I haven't got.

This sentence falls on the old man's ears like a knell.

mr. booth.Is anything . .wrong?

edward.[grim and patient.] How many more times am I to say that we have robbed you of nearly half your property?

mr. booth.[his senses failing him.] Say that again.

edward.It's quite true.

mr. booth.My money . .gone?

edward.Yes.

mr. booth.[clutching at a straw of anger.] You've been the thief . . you . . you . . ?

edward.I wouldn't tell you if I could help it . . my father.

That actually calls the old man back to something like dignity and self-possession. He thumps onedward'stable furiously.

mr. booth.I'll make you prove that.

And nowedwardburies his face in his arms and just goes off into hysterics.

edward.Oh, you've fired a mine!

mr. booth.[scolding him well.] Slandering your dead father . . and lying to me, revenging yourself by frightening me . . because I detest you.

edward.Why . . haven't I thanked you for putting an end to all my troubles? I do . . I promise you I do.

mr. booth.[shouting, and his sudden courage failing as he shouts.] Prove this . . prove it to me! I'm not to be frightened so easily. One can't lose half of all one has and then be told of it in two minutes . . sitting at a table. [his voice tails off to a piteous whimper.]

edward.[quietly now and kindly.] If my father had told you this in plain words you'd have believed him.

mr. booth.[bowing his head.] Yes.

edwardlooks at the poor old thing with great pity.

edward.What on earth did you want to withdraw your account for? You need never have known . . you could have died happy. Settling with all those charities in your will would certainly have smashed us up. But proving your will is many years off yet we'll hope.

mr. booth.[pathetic and bewildered.] I don't understand. No, I don't understand . . because your father . . But Imustunderstand, Edward.

edward.Don't shock yourself trying to understand my father, for you never will. Pull yourself together, Mr. Booth. After all, this isn't a vital matter to you. It's not even as if you had a family to consider . . like some of the others.

mr. booth.[vaguely.] What others?

edward.Don't imagine your money has been specially selected for pilfering.

mr. booth.[with solemn incredulity.] One has read of this sort of thing but . . I thought people always got found out.

edward.[brutally humorous.] Well . . we are found out. You've found us out.

mr. booth.[rising to the full appreciation of his wrongs.] Oh . . I've been foully cheated!

edward.[patiently.] I've told you so.

mr. booth.[his voice breaks, he appeals pitifully.] But by you, Edward . . say it's by you.

edward.[unable to resist his quiet revenge.] I've not the ability or the personality for such work, Mr. Booth . . nothing but principles, which forbid me even to lie to you.

The old gentleman draws a long breath and then speaks with great awe, blending into grief.

mr. booth.I think your father is in Hell . . I'd have gone there myself to save him from it. I loved him very truly. How he could have had the heart! We were friends for nearly fifty years. Am I to think now he only cared for me to cheat me?

edward.[venturing the comfort of an explanation.] No . . he didn't value money as you do.

mr. booth.[with sudden shrill logic.] But he took it. What d'you mean by that?

edwardleans back in his chair and changes the tenor of their talk.

edward.Well, you're master of the situation now. What are you going to do?

mr. booth.To get my money back?

edward.No, that's gone.

mr. booth.Then give me what's left and—

edward.Are you going to prosecute?

mr. booth.[shifting uneasily in his chair.] Oh, dear . . is that necessary? Can't somebody else do that? I thought the Law—

edward.You need not prosecute, you know.

mr. booth.What'll happen if I don't.

edward.What do you suppose I'm doing here now?

mr. booth.[as if he were being asked a riddle.] I don't know.

edward.[earnestly.] I'm trying to straighten things a little. I'm trying to undo what my father did . . to do again what he undid. It's a poor dull sort of work now . .throwing penny after penny hardly earned into the pit of our deficit. But I've been doing that for what it's worth in the time that was left to me . . till this should happen. I never thought you'd bring it to pass. I can continue to do that if you choose . . until the next smash comes. I'm pleased to call this my duty. [He searchesmr. booth'sface and finds there only disbelief and fear. He bursts out.] Oh, why won't you believe me? It can't hurt you to believe it.

mr. booth.You must admit, Edward, it isn't easy to believe anything in this office . . just for the moment.

edward.[bowing to the extreme reasonableness of this.] I suppose not. I can prove it to you. I'll take you through the books . . you won't understand them . . but I could prove it.

mr. booth.I think I'd rather not. D'you think I ought to hold any further communication with you at all? [and at this he takes his hat.]

edward.[with a little explosion of contemptuous anger.] Certainly not. Prosecute . . prosecute!

mr. booth.[with dignity.] Don't lose your temper. You know it's my place to be angry with you.

edward.I beg your pardon. [then he is elaborately explanatory.] I shall begratefulif you'll prosecute.

mr. booth.[more puzzled than ever.] There's something in this which I don't understand.

edward.[with deliberate unconcern.] Think it over.

mr. booth.[hesitating, fidgetting.] But surely I oughtn't to have to make up my mind! There must be a right or a wrong thing to do. Edward, can'tyoutell me?

edward.I'm prejudiced.

mr. booth.[angrily.] What do you mean by placing me in a dilemma? I believe you're simply trying to practise upon my goodness of heart. Certainly I ought to prosecute at once . . Oughtn't I? [then at the nadir of helplessness.] Can't I consult another solicitor?

edward.[his chin in the air.] Write to the Times about it!

mr. booth.[shocked and grieved at his attitude.] Edward, how can you be so cool and heartless?

edward.[changing his tone.] D'you think I shan't be glad to sleep at nights?

mr. booth.Perhaps you'll be put in prison?

edward.Iamin prison . . a less pleasant one than Wormwood Scrubbs. But we're all prisoners, Mr. Booth.

mr. booth.[wagging his head.] Yes, this is what comes of your philosophy. Why aren't you on your knees?

edward.To you?

This was not whatmr. boothmeant, but as he gets up from his chair he feels all but mighty.

mr. booth.And why should you expect me to shrink from vindicating the law?

edward.[shortly.] I don't. I've explained you'll be doing me a kindness. When I'm wanted you'll find me here at my desk. [then as an afterthought.] If you take long to decide . . don't alter your behaviour to my family in the meantime. They know the main points of the business and—

mr. booth.[knocked right off his balance.] Do they! Good God! . . I'm invited to dinner the day after to-morrow . . that's Christmas Eve. The hypocrites!

edward.[unmoved.] I shall be there . . that will have given you two days. Will you tell me then?

mr. booth.[protesting violently.] I can't go to dinner . . I can't eat with them. I must be ill.

edward.[with a half smile.] I remember I went to dinner at Chislehurst to tell my father of my decision.

mr. booth.[testily.] What decision?

edward.To remain in the firm when I first knew of the difficulties.

mr. booth.[interested.] Was I present?

edward.I daresay.

mr. boothstands there, hat, stick and gloves in hand, shaken by this experience, helpless, at his wits' end. He falls into a sort of fretful reverie, speaking half to himself but yet as if he hoped thatedward,who is wrapped in his own thoughts, would have the decency to answer, or at least listen, to what he is saying.

mr. booth.Yes, how often I dined with him. Oh, it was monstrous! [his eyes fall on the clock.] It's nearly lunch time now. Do you know I still can hardly believe all this? I wish I hadn't found it out. If he hadn't died I should never have found it out. I hate to have to be vindictive . . it's not my nature. Indeed I'm sure I'm more grieved than angry. But it isn't as if it were a small sum. And I don't see that one is called upon to forgive crimes . . or why does the Law exist? I feel that this will go near to killing me. I'm too old to have such troubles . . it isn't right. And now if I have to prosecute—

edward.[at last throwing in a word.] You need not.

mr. booth.[thankful for the provocation.] Don't you attempt to influence me, sir.

He turns to go.

edward.With the money you have left. . .

edwardfollows him politely.mr. boothflings the door open.

mr. booth.Make out a cheque for that at once and send it me.

edward.You could . . .

mr. booth.[clapping his hat on, stamping his stick.] I shall do the right thing, sir, never fear.

So he marches off in fine style, having, he thinks, had the last word and all. Butedwardclosing the door after him, mutters. .

edward.. . Save your soul! . . I'm afraid I was going to say.

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