Part 11

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. Or why 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 as_ EDWARD _says 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 at _two_ hundred 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 the next horse I meet to ride me . . to the nearest lunatic asylum.

EDWARD _waits 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._] Any moment. 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._ EDWARD _speaks 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 old_ MR. 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 at_ MR. BOOTH _with great suddenness just as he leaves the room. The old gentleman jumps; then jumps again at the slam of the door. And then he frowns at_ EDWARD _in 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 what_ EDWARD _feels 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 depreciating you. 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.

EDWARD _starts 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 told =him=.

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.

EDWARD _yields 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.

_Now_ EDWARD _settles 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 scans_ EDWARD'S _set 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 on_ EDWARD'S _table furiously_.

MR. BOOTH. I'll make you prove that.

_And now_ EDWARD _buries 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.

EDWARD _looks 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 I =must= understand, 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?

EDWARD _leans 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 searches_ MR. BOOTH'S _face 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 be =grateful= if 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't =you= tell 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. I =am= in 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 what_ MR. BOOTH _meant, 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. BOOTH _stands 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 that_ EDWARD, _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. . .

EDWARD _follows him politely_. MR. BOOTH _flings 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. But_ EDWARD _closing the door after him, mutters_ . .

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

THE FIFTH ACT