ACT I

SCENE: _The GREAT BROXOPP’S lodgings in Bloomsbury; a humble room in late Victorian days, for BROXOPP has only just begun. He has been married for six months, and we see NANCY (the dear) at work, while her husband is looking for it. He is an advertising agent, in the days when advertising agents did not lunch with peers and newspaper proprietors. Probably he would prefer to call himself an “adviser to men of business.” As we see from a large advertisement over the sideboard—drawn and lettered by hand (NANCY’S)—he has been hoping to advise SPENLOW on the best way to sell his suspenders. SPENLOW, we are assured, “gives that natty appearance.” The comfort, says THE GREAT ONE, in an inspired moment:_

“_The comfort is immense With Spenlow’s great invention! Other makes mean Suspense, But Spenlow means Suspension!!_”

_Many such inspirations decorate the walls—some accepted, some even paid for—and NANCY is now making a fair copy of one of them._

_MARY, the Broxopps’ servant—NANCY thought they could do without one, but the GREAT BROXOPP wanted to be called “Yes, sir,” and insisted on it—well then, MARY comes in._

* * * * *

NANCY (_without looking up_). Yes, Mary?

MARY. It’s about the dinner, ma’am.

NANCY (_with a sigh_). Yes, I was afraid it was. It isn’t a very nice subject to talk about, is it, Mary?

MARY. Well, ma’am, it has its awkwardness like.

NANCY (_after a pause, but not very hopefully_). How is the joint looking?

MARY. Well, it’s past looking like anything very much.

NANCY. Well, there’s the bone.

MARY. Yes, there’s the bone.

NANCY (_gaily_). Well, there we are, Mary. Soup.

MARY. If you remember, ma’am, we had soup yesterday.

NANCY (_wistfully_). Couldn’t you—couldn’t you squeeze it again, Mary?

MARY. It’s past squeezing, ma’am—in this world.

NANCY. I was reading in a book the other day about two people who went out to dinner one night—they always dine late in books, Mary—and ordered a grilled bone. It seemed such a funny thing to have, when they had everything else to choose from. I suppose _our_ bone——?

MARY. Grilling wouldn’t do it no good, ma’am.

NANCY. Well, I suppose we mustn’t blame it. It has been a good joint to _us_.

MARY. A good stayer, as you might say.

NANCY. Yes. Well, I suppose we shall have to get another.

MARY. Yes, ma’am.

NANCY. Would you look in my purse? (_MARY goes to the sideboard and opens the purse._) How much is there?

MARY. Three coppers and two stamps, ma’am.

NANCY. Oh! (_Determined to be brave_) Well, that’s fivepence.

MARY. They are halfpenny stamps, ma’am.

NANCY (_utterly undone_). Oh, Mary! What a very unfortunate morning we’re having. (_Coaxingly_) Well, anyhow it’s fourpence, isn’t it?

MARY. Yes, ma’am.

NANCY. Well, now what can we get for fourpence?

MARY (_stolidly_). A turkey.

NANCY (_laughing with complete happiness_). Oh, Mary, don’t be so gloomy about it. (_Collapsing into laughter again_) Let’s have two turkeys—two tuppenny ones.

MARY. It’s enough to make any one gloomy to see a nice gentleman like Mr. Broxopp and a nice lady like yourself starving in a garret.

NANCY. I don’t know what a garret is, but if this is one, I love garrets. And we’re not starving; we’ve got fourpence. (_Becoming practical again_) What about a nice chop?

MARY. It isn’t much for two of you.

NANCY. Three of us, Mary.

MARY. Oh, I can do all right on bread and cheese, ma’am.

NANCY. Well then, so can I. And Jim can have the chop. There! Now let me get on with my work. (_Contemptuously to herself as she goes on with her drawing_) Starving! And in a house _full_ of bread and cheese!

MARY. Mr. Broxopp is not the sort of gentleman to eat a chop while his wife is only eating a bit of cheese.

NANCY (_with love in her voice and eyes_). No, he isn’t! (_Proudly_) Isn’t he a _fine_ man, Mary?

MARY. Yes, he’s a real gentleman is Mr. Broxopp. It’s queer he doesn’t make more money.

NANCY. Well, you see, he’s an artist.

MARY (_surprised_). An artist? Now that’s funny, I’ve never seen him painting any of his pictures.

NANCY. I don’t mean that sort of an artist. I mean he’s—— (_Wrinkling her forehead_) Now, how did he put it yesterday? He likes ideas for their own sake. He wants to educate the public up to them. He doesn’t believe in pandering to the public for money. He’s in advance of his generation—like all great artists.

MARY (_hopefully_). Yes, ma’am.

NANCY (_pointing to the advertisement of Spenlow’s suspenders_). Now, there you see what I mean. Now that’s what the artist in Mr. Broxopp feels that a suspender-advertisement _ought_ to be like. But Mr. Spenlow doesn’t agree with him. Mr. Spenlow says it’s above the public’s head. And so he’s rejected Jim’s work. That’s the worst of trying to work for a man like Mr. Spenlow. He doesn’t understand artists. Jim says that if _he_ saw an advertisement like that, he’d buy ten pairs at once, even if he never wore anything but kilts. And Jim says you can’t work for men like that, and one day he’ll write advertisements for something of his own.

MARY. Lor, ma’am! Well, I’ve often wondered myself if it was quite decent for a gentleman like Mr. Broxopp to write about things that aren’t spoken of in ordinary give-and-take conversation. But then——

NANCY (_with pretty dignity_). That is not the point, Mary. An artist has no limitations of that sort. And—and you’re interrupting me at my work.

MARY (_going over to her and just touching her lightly on the shoulder_). Bless you, dearie, you _are_ fond of him, aren’t you?

NANCY. Oh, I just love him. (_Eagerly_) And he must have that chop to himself, Mary, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll write him a little note to say I’ve been invited out to dinner—and who do you think is going to invite me? Why, you! And we’ll have our bread and cheese together in the kitchen. Won’t that be fun? (_Suddenly looking tragic_) Oh!

MARY. What’s the matter, ma’am?

NANCY. Why, perhaps he’ll go out again directly after dinner and then I shan’t have seen him all day! (_After thinking it over_) No, Mary, I shall have dinner with him. (_Firmly_) But I shall say I’m _not_ hungry. (_There is a sound of whistling on the stairs._) Listen, there’s Jim! Oh, Mary, go quickly! He hasn’t seen me for such a long time and he’ll like to find me alone.

MARY (_sympathetically_). _I_ know, ma’am.

[_She goes out._

(_The GREAT BROXOPP comes in. He wears a tail-coat of the period, a wide-awake hat, and a spreading blue tie—“The Broxopp tie” as it is called in later years. He is twenty-five at this time, but might be any age, an impetuous, enthusiastic, flamboyant, simple creature; candid, generous; a gentleman, yet with no manners; an artist, yet not without vulgarity. His beliefs are simple. He believes in himself and NANCY; but mostly in himself._)

BROXOPP. Nancy!

NANCY. Jim! (_She flies into his arms._)

BROXOPP (_releasing himself and looking at his watch_). Two hours and twenty minutes since I kissed you, Nancy.

NANCY. Is that all? It seems so much longer.

BROXOPP (_comparing his watch with the clock_). You’re right; I’m a little slow. It’s two hours and twenty-three minutes. I must have another one. (_Has one._)

NANCY. Oh, Jim, darling, it’s lovely having you back. But you’re early, aren’t you? Tell me what’s been happening.

BROXOPP (_trying to speak indifferently_). How do you know anything has been happening?

NANCY (_excitedly_). Then it _has_! I knew it had! I felt it. Tell me quickly! (_With a sudden change_) No, don’t tell me quickly, tell me very, very slowly. Begin from the very beginning when you left here after breakfast. (_Pleadingly_) Only just tell me first that it _is_ good news.

BROXOPP (_with an air_). Madam, you see in front of you the Great Broxopp.

NANCY. Yes, but you’ve told me that every day since we’ve been married.

BROXOPP (_momentarily shaken, but quickly recovering_). But you believed it! Say you believed it!

NANCY. Of course I did.

BROXOPP (_strutting about the room_). Aha, _she_ knew! She recognised the Great Broxopp. (_Striking an attitude_) And now the whole world will know.

NANCY. Is it as wonderful as that?

BROXOPP. It is, Nancy, it is! I have been singing all the way home. (_Seriously_) Nancy, when we have lots of money I think I shall learn to sing. An artist like myself requires to give expression to his feelings in his great moments. Several people on the bus objected to my singing. I’m afraid they were right.

NANCY (_awed_). Are we going to have lots of money one day? Oh, quick, tell me—but slowly right from the beginning. (_She arranges his chair for him._) Or would you rather walk about, dear?

BROXOPP (_sitting down_). Well, I shall probably have to walk about directly, but—Where are _you_ going to sit?

NANCY (_on the floor at his knees_). Here.

BROXOPP (_earnestly_). Nancy, you must get me out of my habit of sitting down before you are seated. It isn’t what a gentleman would do.

NANCY (_patting his hand_). It’s what a husband would do. That’s what wives are for—to make their husbands comfy.

BROXOPP. Well, dear, never hesitate to tell me any little thing you notice about me. I never drop my aitches now, do I?

NANCY (_smiling lovingly at him_). Never, darling.

BROXOPP (_complacently_). Very few people could have got out of that in a year. But then (_raising his hand with a gesture of pride_) Broxopp is not like—— Dear me, have I been wearing my hat all the time?

NANCY. Yes, darling, I love you in your hat.

(_A little upset, BROXOPP takes it off and throws it on the floor._)

BROXOPP (_pained_). Darling, you should have told me.

NANCY. I love you so—just as you are. The Great Broxopp. Now then, begin from the beginning.

BROXOPP (_his confidence recovered_). Well, after breakfast—a breakfast so enormous that, as I said to you at the time, I probably shouldn’t require any dinner after it——

NANCY (_hastily_). Yes, darling, but I said it first, and I really meant it. (_Carelessly_) I don’t know how it is, but somehow I feel I shan’t be at all hungry for dinner to-day.

BROXOPP. Nancy, what _is_ for dinner to-day?

NANCY (_as though dinner were a small matter in that house_). Oh, chops, bread and cheese and all that sort of thing. (_Eagerly_) But never mind dinner now—go on telling me.

BROXOPP. Nancy, look at me and tell me how many chops you have ordered?

NANCY (_bravely_). I thought perhaps one would be enough for you, dear, as you weren’t very hungry, and not being hungry myself——

BROXOPP (_jumping up_). I thought so! The Great Broxopp to dine off one chop! The Great Broxopp’s wife to dine off no chops! (_He leans against the wall in a magnificent manner, and with a tremendous flourish produces a five pound note_) Woman, buy five hundred chops! (_Producing another five pound note with an even greater air_) Five hundred tons of fried potatoes! (_Flourishing a third note_) Five million bottles of tomato sauce! (_Thumping his heart_) That’s the sort of man I am.

NANCY. Jim! Have you earned all this?

BROXOPP (_disparagingly_). Tut! That’s nothing to what is coming.

NANCY. Fifteen pounds! (_Suddenly remembering_) Now what would you _really_ like for dinner?

BROXOPP (_going over to her and taking her hands_). Nancy, _you_ believed in me all the time. It has been weary waiting for you, but now—(_answering her question_) I think I should like a kiss.

NANCY (_kissing him and staying very close_). Of course I believed in you, my wonderful man. And now they’ll all believe in you. (_After a pause_) Who believed the fifteen pounds? Was it Mr. Spenlow?

BROXOPP. Spenlow? Bah! (_He strides across the room and tears down the Spenlow advertisements._) Spenlow comes down—like his suspenders. _Facilis descensus Spenlovi._ (_Dramatically_) I see the man Spenlow begging his bread from door to door. I see his wife’s stockings falling in swathes about her ankles. I see——

NANCY. Darling!

BROXOPP. You’re quite right, dear. I’m being vulgar again. And worse than that—uncharitable. When we are rich, we will ask the Spenlows to stay with us. We will be kind to them; we will provide them with suspenders.

NANCY (_bringing him back to the point_). Jim! (_She holds up the money._) You haven’t told me yet.

BROXOPP (_carelessly_). Oh, that? That was from Fordyce.

NANCY. The Fordyce cheap Restaurants?

BROXOPP. The same. I had an inspiration this morning. I forced my way into the office of the man Fordyce, and I took him on one side and whispered winged words into his ear. I said (_dramatically_) “Fordyce fills you for fivepence.” It will be all over London to-morrow. “Fordyce fills you for fivepence.” What an arresting thought to a hungry man!

NANCY. Shall we have dinner there to-day, dear?

BROXOPP. Good heavens, no! It is sufficient that I drag others into his beastly eating-house. _We_ will dine on champagne, regally.

NANCY. Darling, I know you are an artist and mustn’t be thwarted, but—there’s the rent—and—and other days coming—and——

BROXOPP (_dropping into his chair again_). Nancy, come and sit on my knee. (_With suppressed excitement_) Quick, while I’m sitting down. I shall be wanting to walk about directly. This room is too small for me. (_She comes to him._) Nancy, it has been a hard struggle for you, I’m afraid.

NANCY. I’ve loved it, Jim.

BROXOPP. Well, that’s over now. Now the real fun is beginning. (_Triumphantly_) Nancy, I’m on my own at last. Broxopp is on his own! (_He puts her down impetuously and jumps up._) I look into the future and what do I see? I see on every hoarding, I see on the side of every omnibus, I see dotted among the fields along the great railway routes these magic words: “BROXOPP’S BEANS FOR BABIES.”

NANCY (_carried away_). Darling!

BROXOPP. Yes! I have begun. And now the world will see what advertisement can do in the hands of an artist. Broxopp’s Beans for Babies!

NANCY. But—(_timidly_) do babies like beans?

BROXOPP (_confidently_). They will. I can make them like anything. I can make them _cry_ for beans. They will lean out of their little cradles and hold out their little hands and say: “Broxopp. I want Broxopp. Give me my beans.”

NANCY (_seeing them_). The darlings. (_Business-like_) Now tell me all about it.

BROXOPP (_really meaning to this time_). It began with—Ah, Nancy, it began with _you_. I might have known it would. I owe it, like everything else, to you.

NANCY (_awed_). To me?

BROXOPP. To you. It was the nail-brush.

NANCY. The nail-brush?

BROXOPP. Yes, you told me the other day to buy a nail-brush. (_Looking at his fingers_) You were quite right. As you said, a gentleman is known by his hands. I hadn’t thought of it before. Always tell me, darling. Well, I went into a chemist’s. Fordyce had given me fifteen guineas. I had the odd shillings in my pocket and I suddenly remembered. There was a very nice gentlemanly young fellow behind the counter, and as sometimes happens on these occasions, I got into conversation with him.

NANCY (_smiling to herself_). Yes, darling.

BROXOPP. I told him something of my outlook on life. I spoke of the lack of imagination which is the curse of this country, instancing the man Spenlow as an example of the type with whom we artists had to deal. He interrupted me to say that he had found it so, too. A patent food which he had composed in his leisure moments—I broke in hastily. “Tell me of your food,” I said. “Perhaps,” and I smote my breast, “perhaps _I_ am the capitalist for whom you look.”

NANCY. The five hundred pounds!

BROXOPP. The five hundred pounds. The nest-egg which I had been keeping for just such a moment. In a flash I saw that the moment had come.

NANCY (_a little frightened_). Then we shall never have that five hundred pounds behind us again.

BROXOPP. But think of the thousands we shall have in front of us! Millions!

NANCY. We seemed so safe with that in the bank. My little inheritance. No, darling, I’m not disagreeing. I know you’re quite right. But I’m just a little frightened. You see, I’m not so brave as you.

BROXOPP. But you will be brave _with_ me? You believe in me?

NANCY. Oh, yes, yes. (_Bravely_) Go on.

BROXOPP (_going on_). He told me about his discovery. A food for babies. Thomson’s Food for Babies, he called it. (_Scornfully_) No wonder nobody would look at it. “The name you want on that food,” I said, “is Broxopp.” Who is Thomson? Anybody. The next man you meet may be Thomson. But there is only one Broxopp—the Great Broxopp. (_With an inspired air_) Broxopp’s Beans for Babies!

NANCY (_timidly_). I still don’t quite see why beans.

BROXOPP. Nor did he, Nancy. “Mr. Thomson,” I said, “this is _my_ business. _You_ go about inventing foods. Do I interfere with you? No. I don’t say that we must have this, that, and the other in it. All I do is to put it on the market and advertise it. And when I’m doing that, don’t you interfere with _me_. Why beans? you say. Exactly! I want the whole of England to ask that question. Beans for Babies—what an absurd idea! Who _is_ this Broxopp? Once they begin talking like that, I’ve got them. As for the food—make it up into bean shape and let them dissolve it. Or no. Leave it as it is. They’ll talk about it more that way. _Lucus a non lucendo._ Good-morning!”

NANCY. What does _that_ mean?

BROXOPP (_off-handedly_). It’s Latin, dear, for calling a thing black because it’s white. Thomson understood; he’s an educated man, he’s not like Spenlow.

NANCY. And do we share the profits with Mr. Thomson?

BROXOPP. He’ll have to take some, of course, because it’s his food. I shall be generous to him, Nancy; don’t you be afraid of that.

NANCY. I know you will, darling; that’s what I’m afraid of.

BROXOPP (_carelessly_). We shall have an agreement drawn up. (_On fire to begin._) It will be hard work for the first year. Every penny we make will have to be used again to advertise it. (_Thumping the table_) But I can do it! With you helping me, Nancy, I can do it.

NANCY (_adoringly_). You can do it, my man. And oh! how proud I shall be of helping you.

BROXOPP. And the time will come when the world will be full of Broxopp Babies! I look into the future and I see—millions of them!

NANCY (_coming very close_). Jim, when I am all alone, then sometimes I look into the future, too.

BROXOPP (_indulgently_). And what do you see, Nancy?

NANCY. Sometimes I seem to see _one_ little Broxopp baby.

BROXOPP (_with a shout_). Nancy! You mean——

NANCY. Would you like to have a little one of your very own, Jim?

BROXOPP. My darling! It only needed this! (_He takes her in his arms._)

NANCY. My husband!

BROXOPP (_releasing her_). A Broxopp—to carry on the name! A little Broxopp! Nancy, he shall be the first, the pioneer of all the Broxopp Babies! (_Carried away_) I see him—everywhere—sitting in his little vest——

NANCY (_seeing him too_). His little vest!

BROXOPP. Holding out his little pudgy hand——

NANCY. His little pudgy hand!

BROXOPP. And saying to all the world (_he hesitates, and a sudden triumphant inspiration gives him the words_) “I am a Broxopp Baby—are you?”

(_They gaze eagerly into the future, BROXOPP seeing his million babies, NANCY seeing her one._)