ACT II

SCENE: _A sitting-room in the GREAT BROXOPP’S house in Queen’s Gate. Being the room in which he is generally interviewed, it is handsomely furnished, as befits a commercial prince. The desk with the telephone on it, the bookcase, the chairs and sofa, the mantelpiece are all handsome. But what really attracts your eye is the large picture of the baby, looking at you over the end of his cot, and saying: “I am a Broxopp baby—are you?” At least, he says so on the posters; this is the original, in a suitable gold frame, for which JACK BROXOPP sat twenty-three years ago._

(_BENHAM, the new butler, is discovered answering the telephone._)

* * * * *

BENHAM (_at telephone_). Hello.... Mr. Broxopp is not here for the moment, sir. Can I take a message?... To ring Mr. Morris up some time this morning. Yes, sir.... Thank you, sir. (_He walks back to the door and meets ALICE coming in._)

ALICE. Oh, Mr. Benham, I was looking for you. There’s a young woman, name of Johns, just come to see the master. Would you wish to show her up yourself, Mr. Benham? You see we’re not used to a gentleman with us downstairs. It’s all so new to us. When you were with His Grace——

BENHAM. Who is this young woman?

ALICE (_giving card_). She comes from one of the newspapers.

BENHAM (_reading_). “Miss Honoria Johns. Contributor to _The Queen_ and other leading journals.” (_Contemptuously_) What does she want? An interview?

ALICE. She didn’t say, Mr. Benham, but I expect that’s what she wants.

BENHAM. I’ll send her away. Bless you, I had to send hundreds of them away when I was with His Grace.

ALICE (_alarmed_). Oh, but I don’t think Mr. Broxopp would like that.

BENHAM (_staggered_). Do you mean to say that he wants to be interviewed?

ALICE. Oh, I’m sure he does. But I suppose he’s gone to his office. Oh no, he hasn’t, because there’s his hat.

BENHAM (_scandalised_). His hat? Has he only got one hat?

ALICE. Only one that he wears. What the papers call the “Broxopp hat.”

BENHAM (_to Heaven_). If anybody had told me a year ago that I should take service in a house where we only wore one hat—but there! God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform.

ALICE. Oh, but it isn’t as if Mr. Broxopp was just an ordinary gentleman. You mustn’t think that, Mr. Benham.

BENHAM. You all make too much of your Mr. Broxopp, my girl. After all, who is he? What’s his family?

ALICE. Well, there’s only Mr. Jack, of course.

BENHAM (_contemptuously_). Mr. Jack isn’t “family,” my girl. Mr. Jack is “hissue.” Not but what Mr. Jack is very well in his way. Eton and Oxford—I’ve nothing to say against that, though I happen to be Cambridge myself. But who’s the family? Broxopp! There isn’t such a family.

ALICE. Well, but I’m sure he’s very rich, Mr. Benham.

BENHAM. Rich, yes, but what does he _do_ with his money? Does he hunt or shoot? Does he entertain? Has he got a country-house?

ALICE (_sticking to it_). I’m sure you couldn’t find a nicer gentleman than Sir Roger Tenterden who lives next door, and came to dinner here only last Tuesday with his daughter.

BENHAM. Tenterden? Ah, now that _is_ family, my girl. That’s the best I’ve heard of your Mr. Broxopp as yet. But you mustn’t stand talking here all the morning. Just go down and tell that young woman to wait until I send for her. They’re used to waiting.

ALICE. Yes, Mr. Benham.

[_She goes out._

BENHAM (_picking up hat delicately and putting it down again_). One hat—and what a hat!

(_BROXOPP comes in. Very much the BROXOPP that we know, though his hair, moustache, and beard are greying slightly, and his face is more lined. He still wears a broad-tailed coat and a spreading blue tie, though he probably pays more for them nowadays._)

BROXOPP. Well, Benham, what is it?

BENHAM. A gentleman rang up, your Grace—I beg your pardon—“Sir,” I should have said.

BROXOPP. Call me your Grace if it’s any comfort to you, Benham.

BENHAM. Thank you, sir.

BROXOPP. Settling down all right?

BENHAM. I am quite comfortable, sir, thank you.

BROXOPP. I’m afraid you feel that you have come down in the world?

BENHAM. In a sense, yes, sir.

BROXOPP. Well, you’ll have to climb up again, Benham, that’s all. Did you ever read a little book—you can get it at all bookstalls—called _Broxoppiana_?

BENHAM. In a general way, sir, I read nothing later than Lord Lytton.

BROXOPP (_genially_). Well, this is by Lord Broxopp—a few suggestive thoughts that have occurred to me from time to time—with photograph. On page 7 I say this: “Going there is better fun than getting there.” I’ve got there, Benham. You’re just going there again. I envy you.

BENHAM. Thank you, sir.... I wonder if I might take the liberty of asking your advice, sir, in a matter of some importance to myself.

BROXOPP. Why not?

BENHAM. Thank you, sir.

BROXOPP. What is it? You want to get married?

BENHAM (_shocked_). Heaven forbid, sir.

BROXOPP. Well, Benham, I’ve been married twenty-five years, and I’ve never regretted it.

BENHAM. I suppose one soon gets used to it, sir. What I wanted to take your advice about, sir, was a little financial matter in which I am interested.

BROXOPP. Oh!... I’m not sure that you’re wise, Benham.

BENHAM. Wise, sir?

BROXOPP. In asking my advice about little financial matters. I lost five thousand myself last month.

BENHAM (_alarmed_). Not in West Africans, I trust, sir?

BROXOPP. God knows what it was in. Jack said they were going up.

BENHAM. I’m sure I’m sorry to hear it, sir.

BROXOPP. You needn’t be. That sort of thing doesn’t worry me (_with a snap of the fingers_) that much. I’d sooner lose five thousand on the Stock Exchange than lose one customer who might have bought a five shilling bottle of Broxopp’s Beans, and didn’t. You should speak to Sir Roger the next time he comes to dinner. He’s gone into the City lately, and I daresay he can put you on to a good thing.

BENHAM. Thank you, sir. It would be very condescending of him. Would you like me to brush your hat, sir?

BROXOPP. I should like you to tell me who this gentleman was who rang up.

BENHAM. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. A Mr. Morris. He wishes you to communicate with him this morning, sir, if convenient.

BROXOPP. Morris? Ridiculous fellow. All right, Benham.

BENHAM. Thank you, sir.

(_He picks up the hat and goes out as BROXOPP goes to the telephone._)

BROXOPP (_at telephone_). Central 99199 ... yes.... Is Mr. Morris in? Broxopp speaking.... Yes.... Hullo, is that you, Mr. Morris? Broxopp speaking.... Yes, I’ve got your letter.... Oh no, no, no, I don’t care how good the offer is. I don’t want to sell.... Well, you see, I happen to be interested in Broxopp’s Beans.... Yes, yes, of course, but I mean artistically interested. It’s my work, Morris; it’s what I live for. I am much too fond of it to want to share it with anybody.... That’s final, Morris.... Well, look here, if your man is as keen as all that to buy Broxopp’s Beans I’ll tell you what I’ll do. (_He looks up at NANCY as she comes in, and nods affectionately to her, and then goes on speaking down the telephone._) I’ll let him have one of the large bottles for two and ninepence. Ha, ha, ha! (_Greatly pleased with himself_) Good-bye, Mr. Morris. (_He puts back the receiver, and says to NANCY_) Morris has a man who wants to buy Broxopp’s Beans. I said I’d let him have one of the large bottles for two and ninepence. Rather good, Nancy, wasn’t it? We must put it in the next edition of _Broxoppiana_. (_Thoughtfully_) I’m not often funny. (_He kisses her hand and leads her to the sofa._)

NANCY. Dear one ... aren’t you going to the City this morning?

BROXOPP (_on the sofa with her_). I don’t know. There’s not much to do just now. Besides (_tapping his button-hole_), how could I go?

NANCY (_getting up_). Oh, you baby. Have you been waiting for me to put that in? (_She goes to a bowl of carnations and takes one out._)

BROXOPP. Well, I couldn’t go without it, could I? Broxopp without his pink carnation—what would they say in the City? And after you’d put it in for me for twenty years, how could I put it in for myself?

NANCY (_giving it the final touch_). There!

BROXOPP (_looking from it to her with a satisfied smile_). Now, then, give me a kiss, and perhaps I’ll go.

NANCY. You’re only a boy still, Jim; much younger than Jack.

BROXOPP. Oh, Jack’s just at the age when they’re oldest. He’ll grow out of it. Now then, what about that kiss?

NANCY. Keep young, Jim. (_She kisses him and he takes her in his arms._)

_Enter BENHAM noiselessly._

BENHAM (_addressing the ceiling_). I beg your pardon, sir. (_They disengage hastily._) But there’s a young woman called from one of the newspapers. I think she desires an interview for the journal with which she is connected. Or something of that nature, sir. (_He hands BROXOPP her card._)

BROXOPP. Ah, yes. Well, show her up then.

BENHAM. Yes, sir.

[_He goes out._

BROXOPP (_indignantly_). What I say is this, Nancy. If a man can’t kiss his own wife, on his own sofa, without being interrupted, he isn’t living in a home at all; he’s living in an hotel. Now, I suppose that the dignified gentleman who has just left us despises us from the bottom of his heart. His Grace would never have been so vulgar as to kiss his _own_ wife on the sofa.

NANCY. It doesn’t matter very much, Jim, does it? And I expect we shall get used to him.

BROXOPP. I don’t know why we ever had the fellow—except that Master Jack thought it went better with Eton and Oxford. Eton and Oxford—was that your idea or mine?

NANCY. Yours, dear.

BROXOPP. Oh! Well, the only thing they taught him there was that his father’s tie was the wrong shape.

NANCY (_carried back as she looks up at the picture_). There never was a better baby than Jack.

BROXOPP (_looking at the picture too_). Yes, he used to like my tie in those days. He was never so happy as when he was playing with it. Funny how they change when they grow up. (_Looking at his watch_) What are you doing this morning?

NANCY (_getting up_). All right, darling. I’m going. I know you like being alone for interviews.

BROXOPP (_going to the door with her_). But you must come in, Nancy, at the end. That went well last time. (_Quoting_) “Ah,” said Mr. Broxopp, as a middle-aged but still beautiful woman glided into the room, “here is my wife. My wife,” he went on, with a tender glance at the still beautiful woman, “to whom I owe all my success.” As he said these words——

NANCY. Oh, I expect this one won’t write that sort of rubbish.

BROXOPP (_indignantly_). Rubbish? I don’t call that rubbish.

NANCY. Well, then, nonsense, darling. Only—I rather like nonsense.

(_NANCY goes out. Left alone, the GREAT BROXOPP gets ready. He spreads out his tie, fingers his buttonhole, and sees that a volume of Shakespeare is well displayed on a chair. Then he sits down at his desk and is discovered by MISS JOHNS hard at it._)

BENHAM (_announcing_). Miss Johns.

(_BENHAM goes out, leaving MISS JOHNS behind; a nervous young woman of about thirty, with pince-nez. But BROXOPP is being too quick for her. He has whisked the receiver off, and is busy saying, “Quite so,” and “Certainly, half a million bottles,” to the confusion of the girl at the Exchange._)

BROXOPP. Sit down, Miss Johns, won’t you? If you’ll excuse me just a moment—(_Down the telephone_) Yes ... yes, C.O.D. of course.... Good-bye. (_He replaces the receiver and turns to her._) Well, Miss Johns, and what can I do for you?

MISS JOHNS (_nervously_). You saw my card, Mr. Broxopp?

BROXOPP. Did I? Then where did I put it? You’re from——?

MISS JOHNS. Contributor to _The Queen_ and other leading journals.

BROXOPP. Yes, yes, of course. (_Encouragingly_) And you—er——

(_He comes away from the desk, so that she can see him better. A little dazzled, she turns away, looks round the room for inspiration, and catches sight of the picture._)

MISS JOHNS (_impulsively_). Oh, Mr. Broxopp, is that IT?

BROXOPP (_proudly_). My boy Jack—Eton and Oxford—when he was a baby. You’ve seen the posters, of course.

MISS JOHNS. Who hasn’t, Mr. Broxopp?

BROXOPP. I always say I owe half my success to Jack. He was the first Broxopp baby—and now there are a million of them. I don’t know whether—er—you——?

MISS JOHNS (_coyly_). Oh, you flatter me, Mr. Broxopp. I’m afraid I was born a little too soon.

BROXOPP. A pity, a pity. But no doubt your relations——

MISS JOHNS. Oh yes, my nephews and nieces—they are all Broxopp babies. And then I have always felt specially interested in Broxopp’s Beans, Mr. Broxopp, because I live in (_archly_) Bloomsbury, Mr. Broxopp.

BROXOPP. Really? When my wife (_he looks towards the door in case she should be choosing that very opportune moment to come in_), to whom I owe all my success—when my wife and I were first married——

MISS JOHNS (_eagerly_). I know, Mr. Broxopp. You see, that’s what makes me so interested. I live at Number 26, too, in the floor below.

BROXOPP. Now, now, do you really? Well, I declare. That’s very curious.

MISS JOHNS. I’ve only been there the last few months. But the very first thing they told me when I took the room was that _the_ Mr. Broxopp had begun his career in that house.

BROXOPP (_pleased_). Ah, they remember!... Yes, that was where I began. There was a man called Thomson ... but you wouldn’t be interested in _him_. He dropped out very soon. He had no faith. I paid him well—I was too generous, my wife said. But it was worth it to be alone. Ah, Miss Johns, you see me now in my beautiful home, surrounded by pictures, books—(_He picks up the Shakespeare and reads the title_) “The Works of Shakespeare” (_and puts it down again_)—costly furniture—all that money can buy. And perhaps you envy me. Yet I think I was happier in those old days at Bloomsbury when I was fighting for my life.... Did you ever read a little book called _Broxoppiana_?

MISS JOHNS. Now, isn’t that funny, Mr. Broxopp? I bought it only last Saturday when I was going down to my brother’s in the country.

BROXOPP. Well, you may remember how I say, “Going there is better fun than getting there.” It’s true, Miss Johns.

MISS JOHNS (_proud of knowing it_). Didn’t Stevenson say something like that?

BROXOPP (_firmly_). Not in my hearing.

MISS JOHNS. I mean _the_ Stevenson. I think he said, “To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive.”

BROXOPP. Yes—well, that’s another way of putting it. To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive. So Stevenson found it out, too, did he? Well, he was right.... All those years when I was building up Broxopp’s Beans I was happy, really happy. I’m a fighter. I like taking the public by the throat and making them look at me. That’s over now. I’ve got ’em almost too tame. They come and eat the Beans out of my hand. And though my success has given me something—a comfortable home—servants to wait upon me—butlers and what not—the best authors to read—(_he picks up the Shakespeare and puts it down again_)—even a son from Eton and Oxford to gladden my old heart—yet I miss something. I miss the struggle of those early days when my dear wife and I (_he has another look at the door just in case_) set out together hand in hand to beat the world. (_Sighing_) Ah, well! (_In a business-like voice_) Now what can I tell you about myself, Miss Johns? Pray, don’t be afraid of making any notes that you like.

MISS JOHNS. I shall remember what you said, Mr. Broxopp, without taking any notes.

BROXOPP. Ah, well, you must please yourself about that. (_Looking at his watch_) Now, then, I’m waiting for you.

MISS JOHNS. I—— (_She hesitates._)

BROXOPP (_kindly_). Perhaps you’re not used to interviewing? This is the first time you’ve done it, eh?

MISS JOHNS. Well, I don’t do it, as a rule. And I’m afraid——

BROXOPP. Well, perhaps I can help you with it. You must send me your manuscript. My wife (_he looks at the door with a frown—what has happened to her?_) to whom I owe so much, was my first interviewer—ah, that was many years ago. She picked up a guinea for it, but that wasn’t the important thing. It was the publicity. “A Talk with one of our Commercial Princes”—I don’t suppose the Editor had ever even heard of me. (_Chuckling_) Ah, but we bluffed him. Lord, how we piled it on. “‘Tell me, Mr. Broxopp,’ I said—” that was my wife. “Mr. Broxopp leant against his marble mantelpiece—” that was me—“and fingered the well-known Broxopp tie—” (_indicating it_) same one as this. “‘Ah, my dear boy,’ he said—” The dear boy was my wife, of course—she signed herself N. R. Chillingham, her maiden name; you women weren’t so popular on the Press in those days—we pretended she was a man. “‘Ah, my dear boy,’ he said, and I shall never forget the look which came over his rugged face—” my wife didn’t like rugged, but I insisted; sounded more like a commercial prince—“‘there is only one secret of success, and that is hard work.’” (_With a sigh_) Ah, well, those days are over. Happy days! The world seems to have grown up since then. (_Looking at his watch_) Well, Miss Johns?

MISS JOHNS (_very nervous_). Mr. Broxopp, I don’t know how to tell you. I didn’t really come to interview you at all to-day.

BROXOPP (_staggered_). But your card——

MISS JOHNS. Oh, I am on the Press, and please, Mr. Broxopp, I shall certainly write an article—perhaps two articles—about what you’ve told me, and I do live in the house where you used to live, and I was so interested in you, but—— (_She hesitates._)

BROXOPP (_mollified by the two articles_). Well?

MISS JOHNS (_making another effort_). You see, I used to live with my brother in the country. And he has a small farm. And then I came to London. And he has invented a chicken food and it is so good, and I told him I’d ask you if—— You see, I felt that I knew you because of where I lived—I wondered—(_Taking the plunge_) Mr. Broxopp, did you ever think of doing anything besides Broxopp’s Beans?

BROXOPP (_nodding to himself_). You wondered if I’d take up this food? Put it on the market? Boom it?

MISS JOHNS. Oh yes!

(_He thinks it over and then shakes his head slowly._)

BROXOPP. You’re too late, Miss Johns.

MISS JOHNS. Oh, has somebody else——

BROXOPP. Twenty-four years too late. Now, if you’d come to me twenty-four years ago——

MISS JOHNS. But I was only six then. (_Hastily_) I mean, about six.

BROXOPP. Yes, if you’d come to me then—— (_Thoughtfully_) Broxopp’s Beans for Brahmas—Yes, I would have made that go. But not now. It wouldn’t be fair to the babies. I couldn’t do ’em both justice. (_More to himself than to her_) You see, Broxopp’s Beans for Babies—it isn’t just my living, it’s my whole life.

MISS JOHNS (_getting up_). I’m afraid I oughtn’t to have mentioned it.

BROXOPP. Oh, that’s all right. You’ll never get on if you don’t mention things. (_Shaking hands_) Well, good-bye. Mind, I shall expect to see that article—two, didn’t you say? And if there’s anything else you want to know—— (_He stops beneath the picture on his way with her to the door_) A pretty baby, wasn’t he?

MISS JOHNS. Lovely!

BROXOPP. Yes, my wife and I—— (_The door begins to open_) Ah, here she is. (_He keeps his attention on the picture_) Nancy, we were just looking—— Hullo, Jack!

JACK (_coming in_). Sorry. Are you engaged? (_He sees them beneath that beastly picture, and a look of resigned despair comes into his face—he shrugs his shoulders._)

BROXOPP (_to MISS JOHNS_). My boy Jack. Eton and Oxford.

(_And he looks it, too—except perhaps for his hair, which is just a little more in keeping with his artistic future than his educational past._)

MISS JOHNS (_now completely upset_). How do you do? It’s so nice to see the—I mean, we were just looking—but I mustn’t keep you, Mr. Broxopp—and thank you so much, and I’m so sorry that you—but of course I quite understand. Good-bye! Good-bye! (_And she hurries out._)

JACK (_strolling towards the sofa_). Bit nervous, isn’t she?

BROXOPP. You frightened her.

JACK (_sitting down_). Fleet Street—and all that?

BROXOPP. Yes. (_Looking round the room_) Where’s my hat?

JACK. I say, you’re not going?

BROXOPP. Must. Got to work, Jack. (_Looking at him mischievously_) When are you going to begin?

JACK (_airily_). Oh, as soon as I’ve got the studio fixed up.

BROXOPP. You still want to be an artist?

JACK. Well, dash it, I’ve only just begun wanting. You’ve had twenty-five years of Broxopp’s Beans—and—and I suppose you still want to go on, don’t you?

BROXOPP (_smiling_). Well, that’s true. Where’s my hat?

JACK. I say, never mind about that beastly hat. You’ve got to stay at home this morning. I want to talk to you.

BROXOPP (_looking up from his search_). Hullo, boy, what’s the matter?

JACK. I say, do sit down—I keep losing sight of you. (_BROXOPP sits down obediently._) That’s better.

BROXOPP. Well?

JACK (_defensively_). Well?

BROXOPP. What’s happened?

JACK. What do you mean—happened?

BROXOPP. Well, what is it you want to tell me?

JACK. I didn’t say I wanted to tell you anything. I just said, “Let’s have a talk.” I don’t see why a father and a son shouldn’t have a little talk together sometimes.

BROXOPP. Neither do I, Jack. Only I thought perhaps it wasn’t done. Bad form and all that.

JACK. Oh, rot!

BROXOPP. You see, I don’t want you to be ashamed of me.

JACK (_uneasily_). I say, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.

BROXOPP. Oh, but I mean it. You see, I’m very proud of _you_, Jack.

JACK (_with a smile_). You’re much prouder of your blessed beans, aren’t you? Own up.

BROXOPP. Well, you were born about the same time, but I’ve always had more control over the beans.

JACK (_nervously_). You know, I rather wonder sometimes, now that we’ve decided that I’m not going into the business, that you don’t chuck it yourself, and retire into the country. It’s worth a good bit, I should think, if you did want to sell it.

BROXOPP. Would you invest the money for me?

JACK (_with a smile_). Well, I own I had a bit of rotten luck last time, but I daresay I’d do it as well as you would.

BROXOPP. That’s not saying much. I don’t profess to watch the markets.

JACK. Neither do I, only young Archie happened to say that he’d heard from a man whose uncle knew a fellow who—— Well, it just didn’t come off, that’s all. But Sir Roger knows all about that sort of thing. He’d do it for you.

BROXOPP. Well, if I ever do want to sell it, I daresay I’ll consult Sir Roger, but that won’t be for a long time yet. (_He gets up_) Well——

JACK (jumping up hastily). No, look here, you mustn’t go yet. We’ve only just begun to talk. (_Pushing him back into his chair_) That’s right.

BROXOPP (_good-humouredly_). Is this a conspiracy to keep me away from the office, or what?

JACK (_plunging at it_). Dad, you see before you the happiest man in the world——

BROXOPP (_surprised_). Oh!

JACK. Only, it’s dashed difficult. (_Having another shot_) What do you think Mother’s doing at this moment?

BROXOPP. Just what I’ve been wondering. I wanted her in here.

JACK. Yes, well, she’s upstairs, introducing herself to her future daughter-in-law.

BROXOPP. Jack! Who?

JACK. Iris Tenterden. (_But he can’t help being self-conscious about it._)

BROXOPP (_eagerly_). My dearest Jack! So that’s what you’ve been trying to get out all this time! (_He comes forward with both hands held out_) But I’m delighted!

JACK (_more moved than he cares to show_). Thanks, Dad!

BROXOPP (_pulling himself up humorously_). Tut, tut, I was forgetting. (_Formally_) May I congratulate you, Mr. Broxopp?

JACK (_smiling_). Silly old ass!

BROXOPP (_sitting on the sofa with him_). But this is wonderful news. Why aren’t you more excited? (_Apologetically_) I mean as excited as Eton and Oxford will permit?

JACK. You do like her?

BROXOPP. Certainly. She has a way of—a way of——Well, I can’t put it into words, Jack, but she’s the only one of your friends who has told me frankly that she doesn’t like my tie. The others try to convey the impression that I’m not wearing a tie at all—that I am in Holy Orders, or if not in Holy Orders, have a very large beard which—— (_He indicates with his hand how such a beard would completely cover his tie._)

JACK. Well, but your tie is a bit—well, _you_ know, I mean frankly, isn’t it?

BROXOPP (_smiling_). Yes, but so am I a bit—well, _you_ know, I mean frankly, isn’t it? If I hadn’t been, you would never have gone to Eton and Oxford. But don’t think I don’t like Iris. I do—immensely. Well, if you’re as happy together as Nancy and I have been, you’ll do. Twenty-five years, Jack, and I always say that——

JACK. Good old Dad. She’s a ripper, isn’t she?

BROXOPP. She’ll do you a lot of good. But tell me more about it. When did you first discover that she was—a ripper?

JACK. Oh, months ago, but we only fixed it up at that dance last night. I pushed round this morning to see Sir Roger and talk things over. He’s coming round for a pow-wow directly.

BROXOPP. My boy married! And it seems only yesterday that your mother and I were just beginning to keep house together, and there was no Jack at all.

JACK. Well, of course, it seems longer ago than that to me.

BROXOPP (_looking at the picture_). “I am a Broxopp baby, are you?” Perhaps one of these days there may be——

JACK. Steady on, Dad. You’re not going to talk to Iris like that, I hope.

BROXOPP (_with a laugh_). I shall be strictly proper and respectable, my boy. Not a word shall escape my lips of which you would disapprove.

JACK. You know what I mean. When a young girl has only just got engaged, you don’t want to start talking about——

BROXOPP. Say no more. And so Sir Roger is coming round too, is he?

JACK. Yes.

BROXOPP. What does _he_ say about it?

JACK (_knowing that it’s got to come now_). Well, that’s just it. You see Iris and I—I mean he and I—well, of course I always thought so—I mean I don’t want you to think that Iris—though naturally she agrees with me—well, we think, I mean I think—oh, thank the Lord—here _is_ Iris.

(_IRIS comes in with NANCY—tall, cool, confident, with something of the boy in her; utterly honest and unafraid. But even if you don’t like these qualities, you forgive her because she is lovely._)

NANCY. Jack’s told you, Jim?

BROXOPP. Yes, the rascal. Iris! (_He holds out his hands to her._)

IRIS (_taking them_). Daddy Broxopp! Bend down. (_He bends towards her and she kisses him gently on the forehead._) There! You don’t mind being called Daddy Broxopp? Nancy doesn’t mind; I mean being called Nancy. I’ve been talking it over with her, and she’s going to let me call her Nancy because she’s so young and pretty.

BROXOPP (_enjoying it_). And I’m not young and pretty?

IRIS. No, you’re middle-aged and Broxoppy. It’s a nice thing to be.

BROXOPP (_taking her hands again_). Thank you for thinking her young and pretty.

NANCY. I don’t feel very young, with a big son wanting to get married.

IRIS. He? He’s only a baby. (_She blows a kiss to the picture._)

JACK (_resigned_). Oh, Lord!

BROXOPP. Well, Iris, if you’re as happy together as Nancy and I have been, you’ll do. Twenty-five years we have been married, and I always say that if it hadn’t been for Nancy——

NANCY (_stopping him_). Yes, dear.

IRIS. If it hadn’t been for Nancy, there wouldn’t have been a Jack for me to marry.

BROXOPP (_joining in the general laughter_). Well, that’s true. And what does Sir Roger say about it? (_The laughter stops suddenly. JACK and IRIS look at each other._) Hullo, he does say something about it?

NANCY. I think we’d better sit down, darling, and——

(_She leads the way to the sofa. They sit down._)

BROXOPP. Well, what is it? Jack’s been trying to get something out for the last five minutes.

IRIS. Jack, you’re a coward. I wasn’t. I told Nancy.

JACK. Oh, all right then.... Look here, Dad, you’ll think me a beast for what I’m going to say, but I want you and Mother to understand that it’s not just a sudden idea put into my head by—(_he looks at IRIS and goes on_) by Sir Roger, but it’s what I’ve felt for years.

BROXOPP. Well?

(_NANCY takes his hand and presses it._)

JACK. Well, then—I’m—I’m—— (_From the heart_) Well, I’m simply _fed up_ with Broxopp’s Beans.

BROXOPP (_surprised_). But you haven’t had them since you were a baby.

JACK (_seeing the opening_). Haven’t had them? Have I ever stopped having them? Weren’t they rammed down my throat at school till I was sick of them? Did they ever stop pulling my leg about them at Oxford? Can I go anywhere without seeing that beastly poster—a poster of me—me, if you please—practically naked—telling everybody that I love my Beans. Don’t I see my name—Broxopp, Broxopp, Broxopp—everywhere in every size of lettering—on every omnibus, on every hoarding; spelt out in three colours at night—B-R-O-X-O-P-P—until I can hardly bear the sight of it. Free bottles given away on my birthday, free holidays for Broxopp mothers to celebrate my coming of age! I’m not a man at all. I’m just a living advertisement of Beans.

BROXOPP (_quietly_). I think that’s putting it a little too strongly, Jack.

(_NANCY presses his hand and strokes it gently._)

JACK. I know it is, but that’s how I’ve felt sometimes. Of course I know that if it hadn’t been for Broxopp, I’d be sitting on a high stool and lucky to earn thirty bob a week. But you must see my side of it, Dad. I want to paint. How can any one called Broxopp be taken seriously as an artist? How can I make any sort of name with all those Beans and babies overshadowing me and keeping me out of the light? I don’t say I’m ever going to be a great painter, but how do I stand a chance as things are? “Have you seen the new Broxopp?” What’s that going to mean to anybody? Not that I’ve painted a picture, but that you’ve brought out a new-sized bottle, or a full strength for Invalids, or something.

BROXOPP. I think you exaggerate, Jack.

JACK. I know I do. But you can’t get over it that it’s going to be pretty rotten for me. It’s always been rotten for _me_—and now it’s going to be rotten for Iris.

BROXOPP. Is it, Iris? You’d tell me the truth, I know.

IRIS. I want to marry Jack, Daddy Broxopp. But I don’t want to marry the Beans. I told Nancy so.

NANCY (_to BROXOPP_). I do understand, dear.

JACK. I don’t want you to think that Iris put this into my head. It’s always been there.

IRIS (_frankly_). I expect I brought it out, though.

BROXOPP. And what does Sir Roger say about it?

JACK. Sir Roger says that his grandson is not going to have a name that every Tom, Dick and Harry gapes at on the hoardings.

IRIS. I ought to explain that Jack wants to marry _me_, not Father’s way of expressing himself. I told Father so.

JACK. Still, you do see his—well, our point of view? Don’t you, Dad?

NANCY. Oh yes, dear.

BROXOPP. Certainly, my boy.

JACK (_relieved_). Good man. I thought you would.

BROXOPP (_getting up_). The only thing I’m wondering is whether there is any chance of your seeing mine.

JACK (_surprised_). Yours?

BROXOPP (_on his own hearth—THE GREAT BROXOPP—but speaking quietly_). I was educated at a Board school, Iris—I daresay you’ve noticed it. I used to drop my aitches—I don’t think you’ve noticed that—Nancy got me out of it. I wear funny clothes—partly because it is in keeping with the name I have made for myself; partly, I daresay, because I’ve got no taste. But, you see, at fourteen, the age at which Jack went to Eton, I was earning my own living. I took a resolve then. I told myself that one day I would make my name of Broxopp famous. I made it famous. My name; Broxopp. Well, that’s all. That’s my point of view. But don’t think I don’t see yours.

(_IRIS looks at him wonderingly and then goes over and sits by NANCY’S side._)

IRIS. You must be very, very proud of him.

NANCY. I am, dear; he knows it.

JACK (_miserably_). Well, of course, when you talk like that, you only make me feel an utter beast.

IRIS (_with a sigh_). The only thing is that the utter beast feeling might pass off. Whereas the feeling about Broxopp’s Beans never will. It’s a rotten thing to say, but I expect it’s true.

(_There is a moment’s silence, broken by the arrival of SIR ROGER TENTERDEN. He is a magnificent-looking man, with a military moustache and tight-fitting black tail-coat with a light waistcoat. His manner is superb—the sort of manner that can borrow a thousand pounds from anybody and leave the creditor with the feeling that he has had a favour conferred upon him. He is an intense egotist, although his company does not always realise it._

_The three BROXOPPS are distinctly overawed by him; JACK, of course, less than the other two._)

BENHAM (_enjoying it_). Sir Roger Tenterden!

[_Exit BENHAM._

TENTERDEN. How do you do, Mrs.—ah—Broxopp? (_Metaphorically they all stand to attention._)

NANCY. How do you do, Sir Roger?

TENTERDEN. How do, Broxopp? Ah, Jack—Iris.

NANCY. Where will you sit, Sir Roger?

TENTERDEN. Don’t trouble, I beg you. (_The best chair is ready for him._) I shall be all right here. (_He sits down._) You will forgive me for intruding upon you in the morning, but having just heard the great news—well, we must congratulate each other—eh, Mrs. Broxopp? (_He smiles pleasantly at her._)

NANCY (_smiling too_). Indeed, we must.

BROXOPP (_flattered_). That’s very good of you, Sir Roger. I need hardly say how delighted I am that Jack and—er—your Iris should have——

TENTERDEN. Quite so, quite so. Well, they’ve fixed it up between themselves without consulting _us_, Mrs. Broxopp—quite right too, eh, Iris?—eh, Jack?—(_he gives them his pleasant smile_)—but we old people must come in at the end and have our say. Eh, Broxopp?

BROXOPP. Very glad to talk over anything you like, Sir Roger. Of course, I should give Jack a suitable allowance——

TENTERDEN (_holding up a protesting hand_). Ah, well—that—I have no doubt whatever—I, too, would see that my daughter—but all that can be arranged later. That goes without saying. But naturally there are also other matters which will require to be discussed. I don’t know if Jack——

IRIS. You mean about the Beans? I told Daddy Broxopp.

TENTERDEN (_blankly_). You told—ah?

IRIS. Daddy Broxopp.

BROXOPP (_with a proud smile_). What she is pleased to call me, Sir Roger.

TENTERDEN. Oh—ah—yes. Quite so. Well there, we all understand the position. (_With his pleasant smile_) That clears the ground, doesn’t it, Mrs. Broxopp?

NANCY. It’s much better to have things out.

TENTERDEN. You put it admirably. It was with that purpose that I came round this morning. Jack had given me a hint of his feelings and—well, naturally, I had my feelings, too. It is a matter which, after all, concerns me very closely.

BROXOPP (_puzzled_). Yes?

TENTERDEN. Surely, my dear Broxopp! Iris’s child, Jack’s child, would be—_my_ grandson!

IRIS. Father always looks well ahead. They have to in the City—don’t they, Father?

TENTERDEN (_kindly_). My dear Iris, we have to do many things in the City, as Mr. Broxopp knows——

BROXOPP. Oh, I know nothing of your part of the City. I’m not a financier. It’s no good coming to _me_ for a good investment.

TENTERDEN (_with a bow_). Then may I hope that you will come to me if ever you should want one?

BROXOPP (_taken aback_). Thank you. It’s very good of you, Sir Roger.

TENTERDEN. Not at all. But I was saying that we need not talk about the City now. In all walks of life we have to look ahead. And I have to ask myself this, Mrs. Broxopp. Is “Roger Broxopp” a desirable name for—my grandson?

IRIS (_to JACK_). Father’s got as far as the christening now. I shall have another baby directly.

JACK (_miserably_). I wish he wouldn’t.

BROXOPP. I see your point of view, Sir Roger. Don’t think that I don’t see it.

TENTERDEN (_bowing_). That is very generous of you. And I think it is important. There is—ah—a poster to which my attention has naturally been called, saying—ah—“I am a Broxopp baby, are you?” I think—— (_He looks enquiringly at BROXOPP._)

BROXOPP. That’s right, Sir Roger. I thought of that twenty-five years ago. Do you remember, Nancy?

NANCY (_pressing his hand_). I remember, Jim.

TENTERDEN. An excellent poster for its purpose, I have no doubt, Mrs. Broxopp. An excellent picture, no doubt, of Master Jack at that age. (_He smiles at JACK._) But seeing that all babies are pretty much alike——

NANCY (_quickly_). Oh no!

TENTERDEN (_with a charming bow_). Who would contradict a woman on such a question? Let me say rather that since, to the undiscerning male, all babies are alike, there would be the danger, the very serious danger, that people might suppose the words beneath the picture to have been uttered by—(_he pauses dramatically_) my grandson!

IRIS. Roger Broxopp.

TENTERDEN. Exactly. A Broxopp baby. (_To BROXOPP_) Of course I am saying nothing against the food, which is, I am sure, admirably suited for its purpose. I am merely looking at the matter in the interests of—my grandson.

BROXOPP. Quite so, Sir Roger, quite so. You see that, Nancy?

NANCY. Oh yes, dear.

TENTERDEN. Well, my friend Jack has been talking it over with me. I think we agree that for Mr. Broxopp to retire from the business—and I am sure he has well earned his rest after all these years of strenuous work—for him to retire and settle down in the country, would not altogether meet the case. The name of Broxopp would continue with the business—one could not get away from it. (_To BROXOPP_) I think I am right in saying that?

BROXOPP. Undoubtedly, Sir Roger. The name _is_ the business.

TENTERDEN. That was my view. So our friend Jack and I think that something more must be done. A question merely of another name. He has suggested, my dear Mrs. Broxopp (_with a bow_), your name, Chillingham.

BROXOPP. I don’t quite understand.

TENTERDEN. Merely that you should start your new life—freed from the cares of business—as—ah—Chillingham.

BROXOPP. Oh!

IRIS (_to herself_). Roger Chillingham.

TENTERDEN (_charmingly to NANCY_). A name I should be proud for my grandson to bear. I seem to remember a Chillingham in the Coldstream with me years ago. Are yours military people?

NANCY (_eagerly_). Oh yes! My father was a sergeant-major in the Wiltshires.

TENTERDEN (_bearing it gallantly_). Ah! A younger branch, no doubt. But it is a good name, Chillingham. After all, why should the wife always take the husband’s name? Eh, Mrs. Broxopp? Why should not the husband take the wife’s, the son take the mother’s.... Jack Chillingham to Iris Tenterden. And a handsome couple, are they not? I shall be proud of my grandson.

IRIS (_amused, as always, by her father_). Say something, Jack. A few words of thanks.

TENTERDEN. You agree with me, Jack?

JACK (_mumbling_). I’ve been telling Father.

BROXOPP. Of course, I quite see your point of view, Sir Roger. Don’t think that I don’t see it perfectly. _You_ see it, don’t you, Nancy?

NANCY. Oh yes, dear. I should be very proud for you to take my name. Just as I was very proud to take yours.

TENTERDEN. Charmingly put, Mrs. Broxopp. But alas! It is no longer your husband’s name. He has been too generous with it. He has given it to the world. That is what I have to think of—for my grandson. (_He gets up_) Well, Mrs. Broxopp, I have to thank you for listening to me so courteously, and I need not tell you how glad I am that we see eye to eye in this matter. Broxopp, we must have a talk some day in the City. And if I can be of any assistance to you in the matter of your investments, or in any other particular, pray regard me as entirely at your service.

BROXOPP. It’s very good of you, Sir Roger.

TENTERDEN. Not at all. Jack, you’re dining with us to-night, I understand. If you can spare him, Mrs. Broxopp. Well, I must get along to the City. Busy times just now. Good-bye, and again my apologies for interrupting your morning.

NANCY. Good-bye, Sir Roger. (_She rings the bell._)

TENTERDEN. Then I shall be seeing you one of these days, Broxopp. Good-bye! (_He goes beautifully out._)

(_There is silence after he has gone. The BROXOPPS are a little overwhelmed._

_Then BROXOPP goes over to the fireplace, and stands with his back to it. In this position he feels more like himself._)

BROXOPP. Well, Jack?

(_JACK says nothing. IRIS goes over to NANCY and sits beside her._)

IRIS. He’s a little overwhelming, isn’t he? But you get used to it—and then you aren’t overwhelmed.

NANCY. Iris!

IRIS. Nancy thinks I’m too modern. She’s afraid that when we go out together, everybody will say, “What a very fast creature Mrs. Broxopp’s elder sister is!”

BROXOPP. Mrs. Chillingham’s elder sister, isn’t it?

IRIS. So it is, Daddy Chillingham.

JACK (_getting firmly to his feet_). Look here, Dad, if you don’t change yours, I don’t change mine. But if you think you have given the Beans a good run for their money, and you like to sell out and settle down in the country as Chillingham, well, I’ll say thank you. Iris and I have got precious little right to ask it, and Sir Roger has got no right at all——

IRIS (_rising and protesting in the TENTERDEN manner_). Surely, my dear Broxopp, I have a right to consider—my grandson!

JACK. Shut up, Iris, for a moment—no right at all, but—but I’ll thank you. Only I’m not going to be Chillingham while you and Mother are Broxopp. I’ve made up my mind about that.

IRIS. And I’m not going to be Tenterden while all of you are Chillingham. I’ve made up my mind about that.

BROXOPP. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t keep on the business as Chillingham?

JACK (_doubtfully_). N—no.

IRIS. As long as you make Jack a good allowance.

JACK. Shut up, Iris.

IRIS. Well, that’s what it comes to, darling. We may as well be honest about it.

NANCY (_to IRIS_). Don’t make it too hard for him. And, of course, Jim will make him an allowance until his painting brings him in enough for both of you.

BROXOPP (_after a pause_). Jack, does Eton and Oxford allow you to kiss Iris sometimes?

IRIS. _I_ allow him to.

BROXOPP. Well, there’s an empty drawing-room upstairs. You will probably be interrupted by a gentleman called Benham. But if you tell him you aren’t married to each other, he won’t mind.

JACK (_awkwardly_). Oh, it’s all right—very decent of you, but——

IRIS (_getting up and taking him firmly by the arm_). Come along.

JACK. Yes, but hadn’t we better——

IRIS. Jack, do you really think Daddy Broxopp is being tactful?

JACK. Well, of course it’s——

IRIS. Oh, my dear, we aren’t the only pair of lovers in the house. Can’t you see that _they_ want to be alone?

JACK (_stuttering_). Oh—oh! (_She leads him away._)

BROXOPP (_smiling_). She’ll teach you a lot, my boy.

IRIS (_stopping beneath the picture with the unwilling JACK_). Good-bye, Baby Broxopp!

(_She blows a kiss to it and they go out. BROXOPP goes over to his wife and sits on the sofa with her. She takes his hand._)

NANCY. Darling, do you mind very much?

BROXOPP. I wonder if Jack’s painting is ever going to come to anything.

NANCY. He must find that out for himself, mustn’t he? We can’t help him.

BROXOPP. Iris is a fine girl; I like a girl who tells the truth.

NANCY (_smiling to herself_). I don’t think you’d have liked her to write your advertisements.

BROXOPP (_chuckling_). Well done, Nancy. You’ve got me there.

NANCY. Say you liked me doing them.

BROXOPP (_gravely_). I liked you doing them. I’ve liked everything you’ve ever done for me.... All the same, Nancy, we _were_ truthful. Artistically truthful. An artist is a man who knows what to leave out. Did I say that in _Broxoppiana_? (_Remembering suddenly that there will never be another edition_) Oh, well, it doesn’t matter now.

NANCY. You won’t mind very much? We’ve had our time. It’s Jack’s time now.

BROXOPP. Yes, we’ve had our time. Twenty-five years. After all, we’ve had the best of the fun, Nancy. Sir Roger is quite right about the name. It has been a handicap to Jack—I can see it now. It mustn’t be a handicap to Jack’s son.

NANCY. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t keep on with the business if you like.

BROXOPP (_doubtfully_). I don’t think Sir Roger——

NANCY. But it’s for _you_ to decide.

BROXOPP (_jumping up_). No, I’ll do the thing handsomely! You didn’t marry a baronet, Nancy, an old county name, but there’s a Broxopp way as well as a Tenterden way. I do my things the Broxopp way, and the Great Broxopp is not the man for half-measures. We’ll make a clean sweep of it all. We’ll rest—you and I together in the country—Mr. and Mrs. Chillingham. You’ve given me everything, you won’t mind giving me your name?

NANCY (_entranced by him_). Jim, you _are_ the Great Broxopp!

BROXOPP (_entranced by himself_). I am! (_He takes her hands and lifts her out of the sofa._) Propose to me, Nancy!

NANCY (_shyly_). Jim, I love you; will you marry me and live with me in the country and take my name?

BROXOPP. I will. (_He kisses her, puts her back in the sofa and goes to the telephone. It is good-bye now to the Beans._) Central 99199.... Hullo, is Mr. Morris in? Broxopp speaking ... _Broxopp_ speaking.... Good heavens, haven’t you ever heard the name of Broxopp before? For the last time—(_he looks up at NANCY_) for the last time, Nancy—(_down the telephone very firmly_) Broxopp speaking!