A Family Man
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TOPPING. So down on anything soft, Miss. Haven't you noticed whenever one of these 'Umanitarians writes to the papers, there's always a Scotchman after him next morning. Seems to be a fact of 'uman nature, like introducin' rabbits into a new country and then weasels to get rid of 'em. And then something to keep down the weasels. But I never can see what could keep down a Scotchman! You seem to reach the hapex there!
MAUD. Miss Athene was married this morning, Topping. We've just come from the Registrar's.
TOPPING. [Immovably] Indeed, Miss. I thought perhaps she was about to be.
MAUD. Oh!
TOPPING. Comin' events. I saw the shadder yesterday.
MAUD. Well, it's all right. She's coming on here with my uncle.
A cab is heard driving up.
That's them, I expect. We all feel awful about father.
TOPPING. Ah! I shouldn't be surprised if he feels awful about you, Miss.
MAUD. [At the window] It is them.
TOPPING goes out into the hall; ATHENE and RALPH enter Right.
MAUD. Where's father, Uncle Ralph?
RALPH. With his solicitor.
ATHENE. We left Guy with mother at the studio. She still thinks she ought to come. She keeps on saying she must, now father's in a hole.
MAUD. I've got her things on the cab; she ought to be perfectly free to choose.
RALPH. You've got freedom on the brain, Maud.
MAUD. So would you, Uncle Ralph, if you had father about.
RALPH. I'm his partner, my dear.
MAUD. Yes; how do you manage him?
RALPH. I've never yet given him in charge.
ATHENE. What do you do, Uncle Ralph?
RALPH. Undermine him when I can.
MAUD. And when you can't?
RALPH. Undermine the other fellow. You can't go to those movie people now, Maud. They'd star you as the celebrated Maud Builder who gave her father into custody. Come to us instead, and have perfect freedom, till all this blows over.
MAUD. Oh! what will father be like now?
ATHENE. It's so queer you and he being brothers, Uncle Ralph.
RALPH. There are two sides to every coin, my dear. John's the head-and I'm the tail. He has the sterling qualities. Now, you girls have got to smooth him down, and make up to him. You've tried him pretty high.
MAUD. [Stubbornly] I never wanted him for a father, Uncle.
RALPH. They do wonderful things nowadays with inherited trouble. Come, are you going to be nice to him, both of you?
ATHENE. We're going to try.
RALPH. Good! I don't even now understand how it happened.
MAUD. When you went out with Guy, it wasn't three minutes before he came. Mother had just told us about – well, about something beastly. Father wanted us to go, and we agreed to go out for five minutes while he talked to mother. We went, and when we came back he told me to get a cab to take mother home. Poor mother stood there looking like a ghost, and he began hunting and hauling her towards the door. I saw red, and instead of a cab I fetched that policeman. Of course father did black his eye. Guy was splendid.
ATHENE. You gave him the lead.
MAUD. I couldn't help it, seeing father standing there all dumb.
ATHENE. It was awful! Uncle, why didn't you come back with Guy?
MAUD. Oh, yes! why didn't you, Uncle?
ATHENE. When Maud had gone for the cab, I warned him not to use force. I told him it was against the law, but he only said: "The law be damned!"
RALPH. Well, it all sounds pretty undignified.
MAUD. Yes; everybody saw red.
They have not seen the door opened from the hall, and BUILDER standing there. He is still unshaven, a little sunken in the face, with a glum, glowering expression. He has a document in his hand. He advances a step or two and they see him.
ATHENE and MAUD. [Aghast] Father!
BUILDER. Ralph, oblige me! See them off the premises!
RALPH. Steady, John!
BUILDER. Go!
MAUD. [Proudly] All right! We thought you might like to know that Athene's married, and that I've given up the movies. Now we'll go.
BUILDER turns his back on them, and, sitting down at his writing-table, writes. After a moment's whispered conversation with their Uncle, the two girls go out. RALPH BUILDER stands gazing with whimsical commiseration at his brother's back. As BUILDER finishes writing, he goes up and puts his hand on his brother's shoulder.
RALPH. This is an awful jar, old man!
BUILDER. Here's what I've said to that fellow: "MR MAYOR, – You had the effrontery to-day to discharge me with a caution – forsooth! – your fellow – magistrate. I've consulted my solicitor as to whether an action will lie for false imprisonment. I'm informed that it won't. I take this opportunity of saying that justice in this town is a travesty. I have no wish to be associated further with you or your fellows; but you are vastly mistaken if you imagine that I shall resign my position on the Bench or the Town Council. – Yours,
"JOHN BUILDER."
RALPH. I say – keep your sense of humour, old boy.
BUILDER. [Grimly] Humour? I've spent a night in a cell. See this! [He holds out the document] It disinherits my family.
RALPH. John!
BUILDER. I've done with those two ladies. As to my wife – if she doesn't come back – ! When I suffer, I make others suffer.
RALPH. Julia's very upset, my dear fellow; we all are. The girls came here to try and —
BUILDER. [Rising] They may go to hell! If that lousy Mayor thinks I'm done with – he's mistaken! [He rings the bell] I don't want any soft sawder. I'm a fighter.
RALPH. [In a low voice] The enemy stands within the gate, old chap.
BUILDER. What's that?
RALPH. Let's boss our own natures before we boss those of other people. Have a sleep on it, John, before you do anything.
BUILDER. Sleep? I hadn't a wink last night. If you'd passed the night I had —
RALPH. I hadn't many myself.
TOPPING enters.
BUILDER. Take this note to the Mayor with my compliments, and don't bring back an answer. TOPPING. Very good, sir. There's a gentleman from the "Comet" in the hall, sir. Would you see him for a minute, he says.
BUILDER. Tell him to go to —
A voice says, "Mr Builder!" BUILDER turns to see the figure of the JOURNALIST in the hall doorway. TOPPING goes out.
JOURNALIST. [Advancing with his card] Mr Builder, it's very good of you to see me. I had the pleasure this morning – I mean – I tried to reach you when you left the Mayor's. I thought you would probably have your own side of this unfortunate matter. We shall be glad to give it every prominence.
TOPPING has withdrawn, and RALPH BUILDER, at the window, stands listening.
BUILDER. [Drily, regarding the JOURNALIST, who has spoken in a pleasant and polite voice] Very good of you!
JOURNALIST. Not at all, sir. We felt that you would almost certainly have good reasons of your own which would put the matter in quite a different light.
BUILDER. Good reasons? I should think so! I tell you – a very little more of this liberty – licence I call it – and there isn't a man who'll be able to call himself head of a family.
JOURNALIST. [Encouragingly] Quite!
BUILDER. If the law thinks it can back up revolt, it's damned well mistaken. I struck my daughter – I was in a passion, as you would have been.
JOURNALIST. [Encouraging] I'm sure —
BUILDER. [Glaring at him] Well, I don't know that you would; you look a soft sort; but any man with any blood in him.
JOURNALIST. Can one ask what she was doing, sir? We couldn't get that point quite clear.
BUILDER. Doing? I just had my arm round my wife, trying to induce her to come home with me after a little family tiff, and this girl came at me. I lost my temper, and tapped her with my cane. And – that policeman brought by my own daughter – a policeman! If the law is going to enter private houses and abrogate domestic authority, where the hell shall we be?
JOURNALIST. [Encouraging] No, I'm sure – I'm sure!
BUILDER. The maudlin sentimentality in these days is absolutely rotting this country. A man can't be master in his own house, can't require his wife to fulfil her duties, can't attempt to control the conduct of his daughters, without coming up against it and incurring odium. A man can't control his employees; he can't put his foot down on rebellion anywhere, without a lot of humanitarians and licence-lovers howling at him.
JOURNALIST. Excellent, Sir; excellent!
BUILDER. Excellent? It's damnable. Here am I – a man who's always tried to do his duty in private life and public – brought up before the Bench – my God! because I was doing that duty; with a little too much zeal, perhaps – I'm not an angel!
JOURNALIST. No! No! of course.
BUILDER. A proper Englishman never is. But there are no proper Englishmen nowadays.
He crosses the room in his fervour.
RALPH. [Suddenly] As I look at faces —
BUILDER. [Absorbed] What! I told this young man I wasn't an angel.
JOURNALIST. [Drawing him on] Yes, Sir; I quite understand.
BUILDER. If the law thinks it can force me to be one of your weak-kneed sentimentalists who let everybody do what they like —
RALPH. There are a good many who stand on their rights left, John.
BUILDER. [Absorbed] What! How can men stand on their rights left?
JOURNALIST. I'm afraid you had a painful experience, sir.
BUILDER. Every kind of humiliation. I spent the night in a stinking cell. I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday. Did they think I was going to eat the muck they shoved in? And all because in a moment of anger – which I regret, I regret! – I happened to strike my daughter, who was interfering between me and my wife. The thing would be funny if it weren't so disgusting. A man's house used to be sanctuary. What is it now? With all the world poking their noses in?
He stands before the fire with his head bent, excluding as it were his interviewer and all the world.
JOURNALIST. [Preparing to go] Thank you very much, Mr Builder. I'm sure I can do you justice. Would you like to see a proof?
BUILDER. [Half conscious of him] What?
JOURNALIST. Or will you trust me?
BUILDER. I wouldn't trust you a yard.
JOURNALIST. [At the door] Very well, sir; you shall have a proof, I promise. Good afternoon, and thank you.
BUILDER. Here!
But he is gone, and BUILDER is left staring at his brother, on whose face is still that look of whimsical commiseration.
RALPH. Take a pull, old man! Have a hot bath and go to bed.
BUILDER. They've chosen to drive me to extremes, now let them take the consequences. I don't care a kick what anybody thinks.
RALPH. [Sadly] Well, I won't worry you anymore, now.
BUILDER. [With a nasty laugh] No; come again to-morrow!
RALPH. When you've had a sleep. For the sake of the family name, John, don't be hasty.
BUILDER. Shut the stable door? No, my boy, the horse has gone.
RALPH. Well, Well!
With a lingering look at his brother, who has sat down sullenly at the writing table, he goes out into the hall. BUILDER remains staring in front of him. The dining-room door opens, and CAMILLE's head is thrust in. Seeing him, she draws back, but he catches sight of her.
BUILDER. Here!
CAMILLE comes doubtfully up to the writing table. Her forehead is puckered as if she were thinking hard.
BUILDER. [Looking at her, unsmiling] So you want to be my mistress, do you?
CAMILLE makes a nervous gesture.
Well, you shall. Come here.
CAMILLE. [Not moving] You f – frighten me.
BUILDER. I've paid a pretty price for you. But you'll make up for it; you and others.
CAMILLE. [Starting back] No; I don't like you to-day! No!
BUILDER. Come along! [She is just within reach and he seizes her arm] All my married life I've put a curb on myself for the sake of respectability. I've been a man of principle, my girl, as you saw yesterday. Well, they don't want that! [He draws her close] You can sit on my knee now.
CAMILLE. [Shrinking] No; I don't want to, to-day.
BUILDER. But you shall. They've asked for it!
CAMILLE. [With a supple movement slipping away from him] They? What is all that? I don't want any trouble. No, no; I am not taking any.
She moves back towards the door. BUILDER utters a sardonic laugh.
Oh! you are a dangerous man! No, no! Not for me! Good-bye, sare!
She turns swiftly and goes out. BUILDER again utters his glum laugh. And then, as he sits alone staring before him, perfect silence reigns in the room. Over the window-sill behind him a BOY'S face is seen to rise; it hangs there a moment with a grin spreading on it.
BOY'S VOICE. [Sotto] Johnny Builder!
As BUILDER turns sharply, it vanishes.
'Oo beat 'is wife?
BUILDER rushes to the window.
BOY'S VOICE. [More distant and a little tentative] Johnny Builder!
BUILDER. You little devil! If I catch you, I'll wring your blasted little neck!
BOY'S VOICE. [A little distant] 'Oo blacked the copper's eye?
BUILDER, in an ungovernable passion, seizes a small flower-pot from the sill and dings it with all his force. The sound of a crash.
BOY'S VOICE. [Very distant] Ya-a-ah! Missed!
BUILDER stands leaning out, face injected with blood, shaking his fist. The CURTAIN falls for a few seconds.
SCENE III
Evening the same day.
BUILDER's study is dim and neglected-looking; the window is still open, though it has become night. A street lamp outside shines in, and the end of its rays fall on BUILDER asleep. He is sitting in a high chair at the fireside end of the writing-table, with his elbows on it, and his cheek resting on his hand. He is still unshaven, and his clothes unchanged. A Boy's head appears above the level of the window-sill, as if beheaded and fastened there.
BOY'S VOICE. [In a forceful whisper] Johnny Builder!
BUILDER stirs uneasily. The Boy's head vanishes. BUILDER, raising his other hand, makes a sweep before his face, as if to brush away a mosquito. He wakes. Takes in remembrance, and sits a moment staring gloomily before him. The door from the hall is opened and TOPPING comes in with a long envelope in his hand.
TOPPING. [Approaching] From the "Comet," sir. Proof of your interview, sir; will you please revise, the messenger says; he wants to take it back at once.
BUILDER. [Taking it] All right. I'll ring.
TOPPING. Shall I close in, sir?
BUILDER. Not now.
TOPPING withdraws. BUILDER turns up a standard lamp on the table, opens the envelope, and begins reading the galley slip. The signs of uneasiness and discomfort grow on him.
BUILDER. Did I say that? Muck! Muck! [He drops the proof, sits a moment moving his head and rubbing one hand uneasily on the surface of the table, then reaches out for the telephone receiver] Town, 245. [Pause] The "Comet"? John Builder. Give me the Editor. [Pause] That you, Mr Editor? John Builder speaking. That interview. I've got the proof. It won't do. Scrap the whole thing, please. I don't want to say anything. [Pause] Yes. I know I said it all; I can't help that. [Pause] No; I've changed my mind. Scrap it, please. [Pause] No, I will not say anything. [Pause] You can say what you dam' well please. [Pause] I mean it; if you put a word into my mouth, I'll sue you for defamation of character. It's undignified muck. I'm tearing it up. Good-night. [He replaces the receiver, and touches a bell; then, taking up the galley slip, he tears it viciously across into many pieces, and rams them into the envelope.]
TOPPING enters.
Here, give this to the messenger-sharp, and tell him to run with it.
TOPPING. [Whose hand can feel the condition of the contents, with a certain surprise] Yes, sir.
He goes, with a look back from the door.
The Mayor is here, sir. I don't know whether you would wish
BUILDER, rising, takes a turn up and down the room.
BUILDER. Nor do I. Yes! I'll see him.
TOPPING goes out, and BUILDER stands over by the fender, with his head a little down.
TOPPING. [Re-entering] The Mayor, sir.
He retires up Left. The MAYOR is overcoated, and carries, of all things, a top hat. He reaches the centre of the room before he speaks.
MAYOR. [Embarrassed] Well, Builder?
BUILDER. Well?
MAYOR. Come! That caution of mine was quite parliamentary. I 'ad to save face, you know.
BUILDER. And what about my face?
MAYOR. Well, you – you made it difficult for me. 'Ang it all! Put yourself into my place!
BUILDER. [Grimly] I'd rather put you into mine, as it was last night.
MAYOR. Yes, yes! I know; but the Bench has got a name to keep up – must stand well in the people's eyes. As it is, I sailed very near the wind. Suppose we had an ordinary person up before us for striking a woman?
BUILDER. I didn't strike a woman – I struck my daughter.
MAYOR. Well, but she's not a child, you know. And you did resist the police, if no worse. Come! You'd have been the first to maintain British justice. Shake 'ands!
BUILDER. Is that what you came for?
MAYOR. [Taken aback] Why – yes; nobody can be more sorry than I —
BUILDER. Eye-wash! You came to beg me to resign.
MAYOR. Well, it's precious awkward, Builder. We all feel —
BUILDER. Save your powder, Mayor. I've slept on it since I wrote you that note. Take my resignations.
MAYOR. [In relieved embarrassment] That's right. We must face your position.
BUILDER. [With a touch of grim humour] I never yet met a man who couldn't face another man's position.
MAYOR. After all, what is it?
BUILDER. Splendid isolation. No wife, no daughters, no Councillorship, no Magistracy, no future – [With a laugh] not even a French maid. And why? Because I tried to exercise a little wholesome family authority. That's the position you're facing, Mayor.
MAYOR. Dear, dear! You're devilish bitter, Builder. It's unfortunate, this publicity. But it'll all blow over; and you'll be back where you were. You've a good sound practical sense underneath your temper. [A pause] Come, now! [A pause] Well, I'll say good-night, then.
BUILDER. You shall have them in writing tomorrow.
MAYOR. [With sincerity] Come! Shake 'ands.
BUILDER, after a long look, holds out his hand. The two men exchange a grip.
The MAYOR, turning abruptly, goes out. BUILDER remains motionless for a minute, then resumes his seat at the side of the writing table, leaning his head on his hands. The Boy's head is again seen rising above the level of the window-sill, and another and another follows, till the three, as if decapitated, heads are seen in a row.
BOYS' VOICES. [One after another in a whispered crescendo] Johnny Builder! Johnny Builder! Johnny Builder!
BUILDER rises, turns and stares at them. The THREE HEADS disappear, and a Boy's voice cries shrilly: "Johnny Builder!" BUILDER moves towards the window; voices are now crying in various pitches and keys: "Johnny Builder!" "Beatey Builder!" "Beat 'is wife-er!" "Beatey Builder!" BUILDER stands quite motionless, staring, with the street lamp lighting up a queer, rather pitiful defiance on his face. The voices swell. There comes a sudden swish and splash of water, and broken yells of dismay.
TOPPING'S VOICE. Scat! you young devils!
The sound of scuffling feet and a long-drawnout and distant "Miaou!" BUILDER stirs, shuts the window, draws the curtains, goes to the armchair before the fireplace and sits down in it. TOPPING enters with a little tray on which is a steaming jug of fluid, some biscuits and a glass. He comes stealthily up level with the chair. BUILDER stirs and looks up at him.
TOPPING. Excuse me, sir, you must 'ave digested yesterday morning's breakfast by now – must live to eat, sir.
BUILDER. All right. Put it down.
TOPPING. [Putting the tray down on the table and taking up BUILDER'S pipe] I fair copped those young devils.
BUILDER. You're a good fellow.
TOPPING. [Filling the pipe] You'll excuse me, sir; the Missis – has come back, sir —
BUILDER stares at him and TOPPING stops. He hands BUILDER the filled pipe and a box of matches.
BUILDER. [With a shiver] Light the fire, Topping. I'm chilly.
While TOPPING lights the fire BUILDER puts the pipe in his mouth and applies a match to it. TOPPING, having lighted the fire, turns to go, gets as far as half way, then comes back level with the table and regards the silent brooding figure in the chair.
BUILDER. [Suddenly] Give me that paper on the table. No; the other one – the Will.
TOPPING takes up the Will and gives it to him.
TOPPING. [With much hesitation] Excuse me, sir. It's pluck that get's 'em 'ome, sir – begging your pardon.
BUILDER has resumed his attitude and does not answer.
[In a voice just touched with feeling] Good-night, sir.
BUILDER. [Without turning his head] Good-night.
TOPPING has gone. BUILDER sits drawing at his pipe between the firelight and the light from the standard lamp. He takes the pipe out of his mouth and a quiver passes over his face. With a half angry gesture he rubs the back of his hand across his eyes.
BUILDER. [To himself] Pluck! Pluck! [His lips quiver again. He presses them hard together, puts his pipe back into his mouth, and, taking the Will, thrusts it into the newly-lighted fire and holds it there with a poker.]
While he is doing this the door from the hall is opened quietly, and MRS BUILDER enters without his hearing her. She has a work bag in her hand. She moves slowly to the table, and stands looking at him. Then going up to the curtains she mechanically adjusts them, and still keeping her eyes on BUILDER, comes down to the table and pours out his usual glass of whisky toddy. BUILDER, who has become conscious of her presence, turns in his chair as she hands it to him. He sits a moment motionless, then takes it from her, and squeezes her hand. MRS BUILDER goes silently to her usual chair below the fire, and taking out some knitting begins to knit. BUILDER makes an effort to speak, does not succeed, and sits drawing at his pipe. The CURTAIN falls.