Chapter VIII: Act I

SCENE: _Cavendish Square. Evening. The_ MANNOCK _family has
finished with the grosser forms of eating, and is now dealing
politely with the nuts and wine. It does this in what is called
the library (though_ MANNOCK _is not much of a reader), leaving
the debris of the dinner, and the airs which cling to it, to
the dining-room. The four of them, very clean, very proper,
very safe, sit round the polished mahogany, cracking, munching,
talking._ SELBY MANNOCK, _that rising young Cabinet Minister
in the late forties, is intent on a particularly tiresome nut
which won’t declare itself. He deals with it methodically, his
grave, handsome face showing no sign of anxiety. Probably he was
human once, but now the official manner has descended on him. He
can say things like “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have nailed our
colours to the mast,” or “Our glorious Empire on which the sun
never sets,” without feeling uncomfortable. He is obviously an
important man; not pompously so, but with the quiet assurance
which only middle-aged politicians can bring to the pretence that
any of us matters more to Heaven than another. There was a time
when he had a conscience, but it gave up the struggle some years
ago, and is now as departmental as his manner._ LADY JANE, _his
wife, has the manner too. She was born in high politics, whereas_
MANNOCK _has only acquired them. She still has the prettiness,
though it is colder now, which, with her position and money,
carried him off his feet twenty-five years ago, and replaced him
a dozen rungs of the ladder ahead of his contemporaries. Her
world is divided into people who matter at the moment, and people
who don’t; to the former she can be very pleasant indeed; to
the latter also, if there is a chance of their mattering later
on. On the other side of her is their only son_ ARTHUR, _just
down from the Varsity. At the moment he is rebellious, hating
the manner as much as a Vicar’s son hates the Litany. But it is
doubtful if he has the moral backbone to fight against it for
long. Success will have him for her own; let him make the most of
his freedom meanwhile by denouncing the dishonesty of politics
and the servitude of a career. At any rate he will amuse_ FREDA,
_his younger sister. She also will be successful--probably at St.
Margaret’s, possibly in the Abbey--but her sense of humour will
do something to save her. Their leisurely, well-fed talk has been
going on intermittently since the wine went round...._

ARTHUR (_suddenly, after a drink_). Well, all I can say is that, if that’s the case, you ought to resign! (_He waits with an air, as if for the reporters to write “Sensation.”_)

LADY JANE (_after a pause_). Nutcrackers, Arthur.

FREDA. Father’s got them. (_Taking them from him_) Here you are.

LADY JANE. Thank you.

ARTHUR (_trying again_). It’s the only honest thing to do!

LADY JANE (_languidly_). You’re very young, dear. (_Crack!_)

ARTHUR. I suppose I ought to be crushed by that, Mother, but I’m afraid I’m not. I might just as well say that Father’s very middle-aged. That isn’t the point.

FREDA. What _is_ the point? I seem to have missed it. After you with the crackers, Mother.

ARTHUR. Honesty, even in politics, isn’t a question of age. At least it oughtn’t to be.

FREDA (_to_ LADY JANE). Thanks.... It’s a question of what you call honesty.

ARTHUR. Exactly! You have two standards; one for private life and one for public life. That’s what I protest against.

FREDA. Exit protesting.

LADY JANE. My dear boy, what do you expect? It always has been so, and always will be.

ARTHUR (_aggressively_). Why?

LADY JANE. Don’t ask _me_. Why does the sun go round the earth----

FREDA. It doesn’t.

LADY JANE (_taken aback, but recovering gallantly_). Well then, why doesn’t it? Why----(_with a wave of her hand_) Why anything? _I_ don’t know. You’ve got to take the world as you find it. When you’re young, you think that you’re going to make a wonderful new world of it, all by yourself. As you grow up, you realise that you can’t, and that, as you haven’t very long to be in it, you’ll be happier if you make the best you can of the old world.

ARTHUR (_with an air_). Again I protest.

FREDA. Protesting’s never any good. You want to break something.

(_And now, at last_, SELBY MANNOCK _has finished his nut_.)

MANNOCK (_wiping his mouth_). There!... What were you saying, Arthur? (_This is too much for_ ARTHUR, _who, after one indignant look, drops into sulky silence_. FREDA _laughs_.) Ring the bell, will you, there’s a good boy.

LADY JANE. What is it?

(ARTHUR _slouches out of his chair and rings the bell_.)

MANNOCK. Thanks, old fellow.... Why don’t I send in my resignation from the Cabinet? Because my resignation would certainly be accepted.

LADY JANE (_to her son_). It’s ridiculous, dear, to expect your Father to throw up his whole career just for nothing at all. What good would it do?

FREDA (_with interest_). _Would_ the P.M. accept it, Father?

MANNOCK. I think undoubtedly.

FREDA. I thought that that was where Marjory came in. The Duke wouldn’t allow it, would he?

MANNOCK. He mightn’t like it, but----In any case that isn’t the point now. Arthur wants, not a mock resignation, but a real one. Why?

ARTHUR (_mumbling_). The Redistribution Bill.

MANNOCK. Well?

ARTHUR. You said that you thought it monstrous.

MANNOCK. Monstrous was _your_ word.

LADY JANE. Your Father only said that he didn’t like the Bill.

MANNOCK. And if you had given me time, Arthur, I should have added that I didn’t like it because it didn’t go far enough.

ARTHUR. Good Lord!

FREDA. It goes pretty far. It will dish Labour jolly well at the next election.

MANNOCK. Well, what am I in politics for at all, if not to do that?

ARTHUR (_rudely_). You can fight fair, I suppose?

MANNOCK (_calmly_). My dear Arthur, how on earth is any one to say what distribution of seats is fair and what isn’t?

ARTHUR. You admit that the Government wants redistribution just so as to improve its own electoral chances?

FREDA (_to her Mother_). Its own electoral chances----Arthur is getting quite the manner, isn’t he?

(_But_ LADY JANE _does not smile. She has been brought up on the
manner._)

MANNOCK. Certainly I admit it.

ARTHUR (_with a shrug_). Well!

MANNOCK. And I suppose _you_ admit that Labour is opposing it just because it spoils _its_ own electoral chances?

ARTHUR. Er--naturally----

MANNOCK (_with Arthur’s shrug_). Well!

FREDA. Each for himself, and himself for--for himself. Our motto.

ARTHUR (_contemptuously_). Exactly.

MANNOCK. And rightly.

LADY JANE (_with conviction_). Certainly.

MANNOCK. _We_ paint England Blue, and Labour comes and paints it Red, and the result is the Purple which suits her. But only if we have the courage to put our whole hearts into the True Blue. If we begin weakly dabbing on a sort of purply blue, what’s the result? Not purple at all, but a dirty red. And nobody wants that.

LADY JANE (_interested_). Have you ever used that in the House, Richard? It’s rather good.

MANNOCK (_doubtfully_). I don’t think so. (_Trying to remember_) No, I don’t think so. It would be better on the platform, I think. It isn’t altogether sound.

LADY JANE. Sound enough.

MANNOCK. For the platform, yes.... Oh, Digby!

[DIGBY _the butler is there_.

DIGBY. Yes, sir?

MANNOCK. Mr. Edward Eversley is coming in this evening. Show him in here.

DIGBY. Yes, sir.

MANNOCK. He’ll probably have coffee.

DIGBY. Very good, sir.

[_He goes out._

MANNOCK (_to his wife_). I’m sorry, dear, I meant to have told you.

LADY JANE (_trying to place him_). Eversley.... Eversley.

MANNOCK. No, you don’t know him. At least, you’ve met him, I suppose. He was at our wedding.

LADY JANE. Oh!

(_One gathers that many strange friends of her husband’s youth
were there._)

MANNOCK. No, I’m not sure that he was.

LADY JANE. What does he do? (_Not that it matters._)

MANNOCK. He’s become a great authority on gardens, I believe. Writes in the papers about them.

LADY JANE (_brightening_). Oh! We might ask him down to Drayton. He could help us with the terraces. Mr. Ferris is so conventional--and so expensive. Not next week--the week after. No, that won’t do, because----(_She tries to remember._)

FREDA. Have you suddenly found him again, Father, or has he always been about?

MANNOCK. I met him to-day at the Club. He was lunching with somebody. I hadn’t seen him for twenty years.... More.... (_He is thoughtful._)

FREDA. Twenty years! Almost good enough for a dinner, I should have thought.

MANNOCK. He was only up from the country for a night. He hadn’t got any clothes with him.

LADY JANE. I suppose he has some at home?

MANNOCK. I imagine so.

LADY JANE. Then we’d better make it the 23rd. That’s the Saturday.

ARTHUR (_aggressively_). Why shouldn’t he dine in a tweed suit? And anyway, what’s the difference between dining in a tweed suit and coming in after dinner in a tweed suit?

FREDA. About two hours, Arthur.

MANNOCK (_thoughtfully_). I hardly knew him at first. He’s gone very grey.

FREDA. Was he your fag at school, or were you his? It’s always one or the other.

MANNOCK. Neither. We were contemporaries. And we lived in the same village. He might be a year older. I forget now.

LADY JANE. Well, we’ll leave you to talk about the old days together. Is there a Mrs. Eversley?

MANNOCK. Yes. In the country. There was a son, I believe. But that was twenty years ago. I don’t know what’s happened to him; we didn’t get as far as that.

LADY JANE. I suppose she’d have to be asked. (_Hopefully_) Perhaps she’s an invalid.

(DIGBY _opens the door and announces_ EDWARD EVERSLEY. _He
is the same age as_ MANNOCK, _but looks older and greyer. A
pleasant, kindly man, but with the absurd air of being a dear old
gentleman. As boys together_, MANNOCK _was his hero, and even now
there is something of that simple boyish admiration and love left
in his eyes_.)

DIGBY. Mr. Eversley!

[_He goes out._

MANNOCK (_getting up_). Good! You’re just in time for a glass of port. Let me see, you have met my wife, haven’t you?

EVERSLEY (_shaking hands_). How do you do?

LADY JANE (_graciously_). How do you do?

EVERSLEY. You will forgive my clothes, won’t you? Dick explained to you how it was----

LADY JANE (_wondering who Dick is_). Dick?... Oh, my husband, yes! Of course!

(_She smiles pleasantly at him. After all, he is going to
do the gardens at Drayton for nothing, and he may even be a
constituent._)

MANNOCK. My younger daughter, Freda. My son, Arthur. (_They bow and murmur to each other._) Freda, you must make room for Mr. Eversley.

FREDA (_making room_). Come on, Mr. Eversley. We’re longing to hear how you and Father robbed the apple orchard together, and were chased by the farmer, and thrashed by the headmaster, and all that sort of thing.

(DIGBY _and a parlourmaid have come in with coffee, and glasses
for the visitor. The coffee is put in front of_ LADY JANE. DIGBY
_walks round the table with the port and fills_ EVERSLEY’S
_glass_.)

LADY JANE. Don’t be ridiculous, Freda.

EVERSLEY (_sadly_). Alas, there are no such stories. We were model boys. Your father made a false quantity once--let me see, that would be in ’88--but otherwise we gave no trouble at all. (_With a smile_) Eh, Dick? (_He drinks his port._)

MANNOCK (_without enthusiasm for the subject_). We were pretty ordinary boys, I expect. Cigars, Arthur.

LADY JANE (_handing him a cup_). For Freda. You’ll have coffee?

EVERSLEY. No, thank you.

ARTHUR. Cigar or cigarette?

EVERSLEY. Neither, thank you.

ARTHUR. Father?

MANNOCK (_taking one_). Thank you.

FREDA. Thank you, Arthur.

ARTHUR. Sorry. (_He holds out the box to her and takes one himself, and then goes back to his place._)

LADY JANE. I hear you’re a great authority on gardens.

EVERSLEY. I have a great love for gardens.

LADY JANE. Oh!... But you do write about them?

EVERSLEY. Oh yes, yes.

LADY JANE. How delightful! Richard, Mr. Eversley must come down to Drayton--(_to_ EVERSLEY) our house in Sussex--and see the gardens there. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? (_To_ EVERSLEY) We’ve been making some alterations lately. We should value your opinion--and help.

EVERSLEY. That’s very kind of you.

LADY JANE (_with a gesture of “Not at all”_). We must fix up a week-end. Mrs. Eversley too, if she would come. _(She waits hopefully for an announcement that the lady is bedridden, but_ EVERSLEY _only bows._) That will be nice.

FREDA. You’ll like Drayton, it’s terribly beautiful.

EVERSLEY. I’m sure I shall.

LADY JANE. You write a great deal, I expect?

EVERSLEY. Well, yes, about things which interest me.

LADY JANE. And know all the editors.... Arthur wants to write. It’s difficult at first, unless you know the people. A word in the right ear----

EVERSLEY. Ah, but which is the right ear?

LADY JANE. Oh well, of course!

EVERSLEY. I think I should want to whisper a word in the ear of Mr. Arthur. “Trust to yourself. Never mind about introductions. They can’t help you.”

MANNOCK (_with authority, cigar in mouth_). Naturally, you have to have it in you. Dickens would always be Dickens, that’s true enough. But human nature being what it is.... pass the port, Arthur.

EVERSLEY. No more, thank you.

MANNOCK. And what of your own boy, Eversley? You have a son, haven’t you?

EVERSLEY (_gently_). Yes, I have a son. I suppose I should say, “I had a son.” (_They all look elaborately unconcerned._) He was killed in the war.

LADY JANE (_shocked_). Oh!

MANNOCK. My dear fellow, I beg your pardon.

EVERSLEY (_going on quietly_). But you know, we still say to ourselves, “We have a son.” We still have--what made him our son--our love and our pride in him--and we have the sure knowledge that we shall see him again.

(_They look at each other, and away from each other,
uncomfortably. Really, the man is being almost irreligious._)

MANNOCK (_hastily_). Of course, of course!

FREDA. Was he in the Flying Corps?

EVERSLEY. At the end, yes. But he was in the infantry long enough for me to salute him.

[_They all look at him in amazement._

LADY JANE. To--to salute him?

EVERSLEY (_smiling_). Yes. You remember all those comic pictures at the time--the manager saluting his clerk--the father saluting his son. Well, we really did it. I was in his battalion, actually in his company, as a private when he was a second lieutenant. (_He beams at them proudly._)

LADY JANE (_with a glance from him to her husband and back again_). But--but however old were you?

EVERSLEY. Oh, not too old in those days. I’ve aged since. And, you see, my boy was just a little under the limit. So he borrowed two years from me, and that made us both quite happy.

(_Now you can almost see_ LADY JANE _looking from that dead boy
to her own son, and back again._)

FREDA. Were you in France together?

EVERSLEY. In different parts of the line. But we managed to meet once or twice.

ARTHUR. _You_ were in France?

EVERSLEY. Yes! Why not?

ARTHUR. Really in France? At the front? In the trenches?

EVERSLEY. Of course.

ARTHUR. And your boy. How old was he when war broke out?

MANNOCK (_knowing what is coming_). Arthur! (_To_ LADY JANE) My dear!

ARTHUR. How old----

LADY JANE (_getting up_). How extraordinarily interesting, Mr. Eversley. But you and Richard must have a great deal to talk about with each other. (_They are all up now_) Freda! Arthur! You must bring Mr. Eversley upstairs before he goes, Richard.

MANNOCK. Of course. (_He is opening the door for her._)

LADY JANE. Thank you.... Arthur! (_Reluctantly ARTHUR follows the ladies out._)

(_As soon as they are alone_ EVERSLEY _turns to his friend._)

EVERSLEY. I say, may I smoke a pipe?

MANNOCK (_absently_). Of course!

EVERSLEY. Good! (_He fills it._)

MANNOCK (_still absently_). We’ve taken to coming in here at the nuts and wine stage--an old custom of my wife’s people.

EVERSLEY. They used to do it at Cambridge--the Dons. Oxford too, I suppose.

MANNOCK. Yes.... It’s my room really.... (_Getting to the point_) What you were saying--about the Army--of course you were younger than I was----

EVERSLEY. One day--don’t you remember? (MANNOCK _looks inquiringly at him_) Our birthdays? Mine was the day after yours.

MANNOCK. Oh, was that all? I knew you were younger.... You were lucky to be your own master--free to join up. I--I was--it was impossible.

EVERSLEY. My dear Dick, of course! You were an important member of the Government, running the war for us. I was just at your orders.

MANNOCK. It was my one regret that my--my responsibilities prevented me from shouldering a rifle with--with my friends.

EVERSLEY (_reflectively_). It’s funny how people always talked about “shouldering” a rifle. You only shoulder arms in a Rifle Regiment. _We_ sloped ’em. (_With a laugh_) There! That’s about all of my soldiering that I remember now. Funny how it slips away.

MANNOCK (_still justifying himself_). Arthur was very anxious to run away from school. Naturally. So was every boy. He wasn’t actually eighteen until the last summer.... The war was finishing then, and I ... it seemed a pity, his last term ... I arranged----

EVERSLEY (_helping him out_). Tell me about your children, Dick. Have I seen them all?

MANNOCK. There’s my elder girl. Marjory.

EVERSLEY. Ah, what about _her_?

MANNOCK. She married young Robert Harlow.

EVERSLEY (_no wiser_). Oh!

MANNOCK. The Duke’s second son, you know.

EVERSLEY. Oh!... I am afraid I am very ignorant. Is there only one Duke?

MANNOCK. In politics, at present, yes. Only one that matters.

EVERSLEY. Oh!

MANNOCK. It all helps.

EVERSLEY. Oh! (_With a smile_) But it’s no good your trying to pretend that she married him just so as to help your political career, Dick.

MANNOCK. Not “just so” of course. She’s keen on politics too. Young Harlow is in the House. It helps him to have married my daughter; it helps me that she married _him_.

EVERSLEY. Oh! (_After a pause_) Whom is Miss Freda marrying?

MANNOCK. She’s only a child. There’s nothing settled.

EVERSLEY. Is she keen on politics too?

MANNOCK. Naturally.

EVERSLEY. And the boy? He wants to write?

MANNOCK. Every young man of intelligence wants to write. He’ll get over it.

EVERSLEY. Is he destined for politics too?

MANNOCK. Naturally the choice is his. But I imagine that that’s what he will settle down to directly. He has great opportunities.

EVERSLEY. He has indeed....

MANNOCK (_after a pause_). You only had the one boy?

EVERSLEY. Yes.

MANNOCK. A pity.

EVERSLEY. You believe in the large family, Dick?

MANNOCK (_cigar in mouth_). Three or possibly four, yes. Childless marriages in a country like ours--with our Empire, our responsibilities--well, where should we be in another hundred years?

EVERSLEY (_quietly_). We were very poor when we were first married. When my boy was born, we lived in two rooms. Mary was in one; I was in the other. The walls are thin in those houses. I realised then that it was she who was saving the Empire, not I. It was not for me to say how many children we should have.

MANNOCK. Oh, come! A man can’t escape his responsibilities like that.

EVERSLEY. Where were you, Dick, when your first child was born?

MANNOCK. Well, really! I don’t know that----Let me see, what year would that be?

EVERSLEY (_to himself_). Ah, then you weren’t in the other room.

MANNOCK. No, I was down in Liverpool; of course! My by-election was on. Yes, I remember now. I got a telegram the evening before polling-day. It was just in time. I used to tell Arthur that he won the seat for me. (_Blowing out smoke_) A little human touch like that helps enormously at election time.

EVERSLEY. I see.... But of course one can never be quite certain when an election is coming on.

MANNOCK (_taking it literally_). No.

EVERSLEY (_keeping the joke to himself_). Well, well, you haven’t much to complain of, Dick. Cabinet Minister! Prime Minister one day, perhaps.

MANNOCK (_with a shrug_). It’s just possible, I suppose.

EVERSLEY. Who would have guessed it in the old days?

MANNOCK. I’ve been lucky, of course. And my wife has helped me enormously.

EVERSLEY. I am sure she has.

MANNOCK. I couldn’t have done it without her. It is difficult for an outsider, as I was in the early days. Of course it _has_ been done, but only by very exceptional people, and I never claimed to be that. She knew everybody; introduced me to the right people; kept me in front of them. I suppose you would say that I played my cards well, but she dealt me the hand.

EVERSLEY (_to himself_). Yes, yes, I think I understand.

MANNOCK (_with a laugh at the absurdity of it_). In the old days, when we were boys, I used to think it was you who were going to do the big things.

EVERSLEY. No, no. It was always you. Don’t you remember? It was always you who were Nite, and I was your Squier. Don’t you remember?

MANNOCK (_remembering_). Yes, Nite, Squier and--Yes.

EVERSLEY And Buteus Maiden.

MANNOCK (_he has never quite forgotten_). And Buteus Maiden.

(_They are silent for a little._)

EVERSLEY (_humming to himself_). _How_ did it go?

MANNOCK. The War Song of the--what was it?----

EVERSLEY The Dreadnought Knight.

MANNOCK. Dreadnought?

EVERSLEY Don’t you remember? She said you were her Red Cross Knight, and I said you weren’t a Cross, you were only a Nought--you were a Red Nought Knight.

MANNOCK. That’s right. And _I_ said----

EVERSLEY No, _she_ said----

MANNOCK. Yes. _She_ said I was her Dreadnought Knight.

(_He is a little ashamed of all this, but for the first time you
see something of that eager boy who died twenty-five years ago._)

EVERSLEY (_humming again_). How did it go?

MANNOCK (_awkwardly; yet, in some unaccountable way, happy even to be singing it again_).

“Half a pound of tuppenny rice,
Half a pound of treacle,
That’s the way the money goes--
Pop goes the weasel!”

EVERSLEY (_eagerly_). That’s it!

MANNOCK. Do you remember how I said----

EVERSLEY. No, _I_ said----

MANNOCK (_after thinking_). That’s right. _You_ said that you didn’t like rice----

EVERSLEY. And I was always going to say, “Half a pound of ham and eggs”----

MANNOCK. And _I_ said that the Squier _always_ had to sing the same song as the Nite----

EVERSLEY. And I said anyhow I would jolly well _think_ ham and eggs----

MANNOCK (_very eagerly_). And _she_ said----(_He breaks off suddenly, and there is a little silence._)

EVERSLEY (_gently_). Dick, have you--do you ever--have you ever seen Sally--well, I mean, since we----

MANNOCK (_in a low voice_). No. Not since----

EVERSLEY. That last summer?

MANNOCK (_shaking his head_). No. I went to London----

EVERSLEY. We both went to London.

MANNOCK. I had just been called.

EVERSLEY. I had just got a job in the City.

MANNOCK. Didn’t _you_ ever go down to Enderways again?

EVERSLEY. No.

MANNOCK. Why not?

EVERSLEY. I was afraid to.

MANNOCK. How do you mean?

EVERSLEY (_awkwardly_). I thought I--I thought you----Of course, a little later, when I met Mary, I knew that I never had been really in love with Sally, but I thought I was then, and I thought you--it seemed to be understood. (_To himself_) You were her Dreadnought Knight.

MANNOCK (_with a self-conscious laugh_). Just a boy and girl romance. I--it was impossible. She--we had no money. How could we? Better to make a clean sweep of it all, and begin again.

EVERSLEY (_to himself_). So you began again.... And gradually success closed in on you.

MANNOCK (_looking at him sharply_). What an extraordinary remark!

EVERSLEY (_surprised_). What?

MANNOCK. Success “closed in” on you.

EVERSLEY. Did I say that? (_With an embarrassed little laugh_) I beg your pardon. I had no idea. No idea even that I was thinking it. Ridiculous! (_After a pause_) She’s married now, you know.

MANNOCK (_wishing to be done with the subject_). I’m glad.

EVERSLEY. But not very happily.

MANNOCK. Ah, I’m sorry about that. The Old Man’s dead long ago, of course?

EVERSLEY. Of course.

MANNOCK (_with a laugh_). The Old Man. (_Tapping his head_) Never quite all there, was he?

EVERSLEY. I don’t think that we used to say that when we were boys, Dick. Sally didn’t.

MANNOCK. Of course! Her own father!

EVERSLEY. Unworldly.... Perhaps that’s the same nowadays as not being quite all there.

MANNOCK. The two of them alone together all those years in that rambling old house!

EVERSLEY (_with a chuckle_). Hardly alone. We practically lived there in the holidays.

MANNOCK. What happened to the place?

EVERSLEY. She lives there still. That was all he left her, you know. I think she married to save it.

MANNOCK. It all seems very long ago.

(_They sit there silently thinking of the long ago...._ FREDA
_comes in, followed by_ BERTIE CAPP, _a stout young man, who
tries to hide his extreme cleverness beneath the make-up of a
fool_.)

FREDA. Here’s Bertie, Father.

MANNOCK (_coming out of the past_). Hullo, Bertie. How are you?

BERTIE (_dropping his eye-glass_). Pretty well, thanks.

FREDA. Don’t go too close to him, he’s covered with eucalyptus.

BERTIE. A precautionary measure only. The cold belongs to somebody else. My private microbes----

MANNOCK (_to_ EVERSLEY). Do you know Bertie Capp?... This is Mr. Eversley.

BERTIE. How are _you_, sir?

EVERSLEY. How do you do?

BERTIE. My private microbes, who distribute gout and insomnia, are resting for the moment. It’s a hard life.

MANNOCK. How’s the Prime Minister?

BERTIE (_waving his handkerchief_). Like that.

FREDA (_with a face_). Oh, put it away, Bertie. I’d rather have the cold.

BERTIE. I give him two more days in bed. Between ourselves he likes it there.

FREDA (_to_ EVERSLEY). Bertie is the P.M.’s P.P.S.

EVERSLEY (_with a smile_). Thank you very much.

FREDA. The Prime Minister’s Principal Private Secretary. In other words, Bertie runs England.

BERTIE. I consult Miss Freda on all the important points.

MANNOCK. (_to_ BERTIE). Did you want to see me?

BERTIE. Well--er----

FREDA. Come on, Mr. Eversley. We’ll go upstairs.

EVERSLEY (_to_ MANNOCK). Perhaps I’d better say good-bye, Dick.

MANNOCK (_carelessly_). Good-bye. I’ll be seeing you again before very long. Talk to my wife about that week-end.

EVERSLEY. Thank you, thank you. (_To_ BERTIE) Good-night.

BERTIE. Good-night. (_He opens the door_) I hope I haven’t given you the Prime Minister’s cold.

EVERSLEY (_smiling_). It would be an honour to have it.

BERTIE. Oh well, he’s nearly finished with it. Good-night. Good-night, Freda, if I don’t see you again.

FREDA. Good-night.

[_They go out._

BERTIE (_closing the door_). Is that the Garden Eversley?

MANNOCK (_surprised_). Yes. Do you know him?

BERTIE. I know his book, of course.

MANNOCK. Oh! (_With a faint touch of pride_) We were boys together.

BERTIE. He’s a good bit older than you, isn’t he?

MANNOCK (_hastily_). There was not much in it. Well?

BERTIE (_taking a large envelope from his pocket_). The Prime Minister’s compliments, and would you rather have a Baronetcy or an absolute snip for the 2.30?

MANNOCK (_not surprised_). Ah! It’s all right, then?

BERTIE. Very much all right. Between ourselves, it’s a damn good speech. I read it to him. He just lay there, without a movement. Absorbed.

MANNOCK. Asleep, probably.

BERTIE (_candidly_). Well, so _I_ thought at first. But I drank his medicine once by mistake--being a thirsty sort of speech, I had put a glass of water handy--and the subsequent noise woke him. I mean it was obvious he was awake all the time.

MANNOCK (_unamused_). Any comments?

BERTIE. Well, yes.

MANNOCK What?

BERTIE. “Clever fellow, Mannock. Er----”

MANNOCK. Go on.

BERTIE. “Clever fellow, Mannock. He brings to the obvious such a wealth of reticence that it almost sounds improper.” Said between coughs and grunts, you know, it sounded rather good. But I daresay there isn’t much in it.

MANNOCK. You have to be obvious on the platform.

BERTIE. Oh, quite.... I say, do you see _The Sunday Socialist_?

MANNOCK (_curtly_). Never.

BERTIE (_taking it from his pocket_). You haven’t seen this week’s?

MANNOCK. Why should I?

BERTIE. We take it in, of course. “My attention has been drawn ...” and all that sort of thing. (_Pointing to the place_) There! (_As_ MANNOCK _reads_) I thought I’d better bring it along.

MANNOCK (_reading_). Yes.... Yes.

BERTIE. Once doesn’t matter--you can deny anything once--but if he’s going to make a habit of it----

MANNOCK (_firmly_). He is not. (_He goes on reading._)

BERTIE. Well, I’ll be getting along.

MANNOCK. Thanks very much for letting me see this. Are you going upstairs?

BERTIE. Just for a moment.

MANNOCK. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling Arthur that I should like to see him.

BERTIE. Right. (_Going to the door_) By the way, where are you sleeping to-morrow night? Hotel?

MANNOCK (_still reading the paper_). Carchester’s putting me up. He’s got some sort of place in the neighbourhood, I believe.

BERTIE. Ah! I didn’t know that you----(_He hesitates._)

MANNOCK. We don’t.

BERTIE (_tolerantly_). Oh, well, it takes all sorts to make a party.

MANNOCK. Exactly. This is politics. He’s popular down there, they say. He’s taking the chair at the evening meeting.

BERTIE. Oh, quite. Well, good-night and good luck.

MANNOCK. Good-night.

(_He settles down to this damnable article again._ ARTHUR _comes
in_.)

ARTHUR. Bertie said you wanted me.

MANNOCK (_getting up_). Yes; sit down, won’t you? (ARTHUR _sits down_) Did you write this? (_He gives him the paper._)

ARTHUR (_bracing himself for the row that’s coming_). Yes.

MANNOCK. Ah! Proud of it?

ARTHUR. Not ashamed of it anyway.

MANNOCK. Then you ought to be.

ARTHUR. I don’t see why.

MANNOCK. An inflammatory article in a revolutionary rag----

ARTHUR. Papers aren’t rags just because you don’t agree with their opinions.

MANNOCK. An impertinent article in a revolutionary rag, charging members of the Government, amongst them your own Father, with every sort of crime and folly.

ARTHUR (_calmly_). It just means that I take the opposite side to you, that’s all.

MANNOCK (_reading_). “There is more here than political dishonour. There is personal dishonour.”

ARTHUR (_uncomfortably_). Well--I mean----

MANNOCK. Thank you, Arthur.

ARTHUR. Well, it isn’t _my_ fault you’re a Cabinet Minister. I happen to be a Socialist----

MANNOCK. A Socialist!

ARTHUR. Why not?

MANNOCK (_contemptuously_). Why not! Have another cigar? Have another glass of port? A Socialist! Look at yourself in the glass!

ARTHUR. Well, you can’t have it both ways. If I’m a poor, uneducated devil, you say contemptuously, “Of course you’re a Socialist; you want my money,” and if I happen to be well-off and educated, you say contemptuously, “You a Socialist! Look at yourself in the glass!” You can’t have it both ways.

MANNOCK. I beg your pardon. In fact, I’m not sure that I ought to be discussing this with you at all. This article (_tapping the paper_) is signed “Arthur _Selby_ Mannock.” I don’t think I know him. Who is he?

ARTHUR. That’s not my fault. I suppose----

MANNOCK. Your name, I think, is Arthur James Mannock? Why do you give a false name?

ARTHUR. I signed it “Arthur Mannock.” Of course it had this address on it. I suppose----

MANNOCK. You suppose that the editor, wishing everybody to know that a Cabinet Minister was being accused of personal dishonour by his own son, altered it to Selby Mannock so that there should be no chance of misapprehension.

ARTHUR. I suppose he thought it was a double-barrelled name. All the papers call you Selby Mannock as if it were.

MANNOCK (_quietly_). You know quite well why he did it. (ARTHUR _is silent_.) How many more of these articles are you writing--from my house?

ARTHUR. Well--well, as a matter of fact, they’ve offered me a job, sort of assistant editor--two fifty--I could get rooms somewhere--I mean, naturally I want to. I mean----

MANNOCK (_with a sneer_). Assistant editor!... As assistant editor it would be your job to see that the “Selby” didn’t go into your articles----

ARTHUR. Naturally----

MANNOCK. Or did go in, according as the editor wished.

ARTHUR. Well, of course I should----(_His voice trails away._)

(_They are silent._ MANNOCK, _realising that he is not getting
much further, decides on a new line of attack_.)

MANNOCK (_with a friendly smile_). Look here, Arthur, let’s talk this over reasonably.

ARTHUR. I shall be only too glad to.

MANNOCK (_charmingly_). Well, then, first, thank you for having kept your temper so well. I’m afraid I’ve been rather provocative.

ARTHUR. Oh, I say, not at all.

MANNOCK. I do say it. And that’s the trouble, Arthur. You’ve got such a lot of fine qualities. Brains--more brains than I have, I fancy----

ARTHUR. Oh, rot!

MANNOCK. Enthusiasm, good temper, courage----Well, I mean, how many young men would have dared to do that? (_He waves at the paper._)

ARTHUR. Oh, I don’t know.

MANNOCK. As the Prime Minister said to me the other day, “That boy of yours will go far.” I know it. But in which direction?... It’s a funny thing, Arthur, how so many great political geniuses, writers too, have started in the wrong direction. Disraeli began as a Radical, Gladstone as a Tory----It almost seems as if one false start were necessary before you can get going. The trouble is that your enemies remember that false start, and bring it up against you. Happy the man who has no past, as somebody said. Well, that’s what I’m anxious about. You’re preparing a past for yourself _now_. I wonder if----You don’t mind my talking like this?

ARTHUR (_interested and flattered_). Of course not.

MANNOCK. You’re a Socialist. Right. I don’t agree with your opinions, but that has nothing to do with it. Now what I’m wondering is----Need you be a _public_ Socialist for--well, say for a year?

ARTHUR. How do you mean? (_With a laugh_) I shan’t change in a year, if that’s what you’re hoping.

MANNOCK (_laughing too_). I’m afraid you won’t. (_With an air of great seriousness_) But frankly, Arthur, old boy, I’m in a difficulty. I’ve been wanting to make a suggestion to you for some weeks now, only--I’ve been afraid.

ARTHUR. Afraid?

MANNOCK. Yes, afraid of your refusing it. I’ve preferred to go on hoping, rather than to close the door on my hopes by speaking to you.

ARTHUR (_after waiting for him_). Well?

MANNOCK. My secretary is leaving me. It puts me in rather an awkward position.

ARTHUR. Which of the many?

MANNOCK. Well, naturally I don’t mean at the Ministry. Reader. (_He jerks his head at the door behind him._)

ARTHUR. Reader? Why?

MANNOCK. He’s got a better job in prospect. He’s been with me a long time, but he’s leaving me at last. I shall be rather lost without him. Arthur, old boy, I wish you’d take his place.

ARTHUR (_staggered_). But----

MANNOCK. Three hundred a year I’ll give you. Three fifty if you want to live out, but I’d rather you didn’t.

ARTHUR. But I’m--my political opinions----

MANNOCK. I know, I know. That’s why I was afraid to ask you. But couldn’t you manage to keep an open mind for a year? I want you to see something of the inside of politics. If at the end of a year, you’re more of a Socialist than ever, well, what a chance for you! You’ll be able to expose us properly! You’ll know all about us! But if I’m lucky enough to win your confidence, why perhaps one day the proudest moment of my life will come. Do you know what that will be?

ARTHUR. What?

MANNOCK. The moment when I introduce you to the Speaker in the House of Commons. Arthur Mannock, M.P. for ----. We can find you a dozen seats.

(_They sit there, Arthur thinking, Mannock watching him
anxiously._)

ARTHUR (_after a pause_). It’s really awfully decent of you, Father.

MANNOCK. You see, I want you rather badly.

ARTHUR. You’re sure it doesn’t commit me to anything?

MANNOCK (_quickly_). Not a bit.

ARTHUR. And if, after a year----

MANNOCK. Exactly.

ARTHUR. And you would absolve me of any charge of disloyalty, if----

MANNOCK. Of course! of course!

ARTHUR (_after thinking_). Right you are, Father. I’ll take it on.

(MANNOCK _turns away with a big sigh of relief_.)

MANNOCK. Thank you, old boy. I’m sure you won’t regret it.... Oh, there’s just one other thing. I shall keep you pretty busy. Better take a holiday now, while Reader is still here.

ARTHUR. Well----

MANNOCK. Hard up?

ARTHUR (_smiling_). Fairly.

MANNOCK (_smiling_). I’ll see to that.

ARTHUR. I say, you are a sportsman. Thanks awfully!

Mannock. That’s all right. (_Dismissing him_) Well, I must go through my speech with Reader.

ARTHUR. That’s to-morrow, isn’t it? At Leeds.

MANNOCK. Yes.

ARTHUR (_smiling_). Well, entirely without prejudice to my political opinions, I hope they won’t throw anything at you.

(_He goes._ MANNOCK _laughs heartily until the door closes. Then,
in a flash, his pleasant manner disappears. He walks to his desk
and picks up the telephone._)

MANNOCK. Hullo! Come in, will you? (_He sits down and writes out a cheque. While he is so engaged_, JOHN READER _comes in, a serious young man with the great virtues of industry and loyalty, but a pathetic lack of anything else_.) Ah, Reader, just wait a moment. Got the speech?

READER. Yes, sir.

MANNOCK (_getting up, cheque in hand_). Good. All right?

READER. I have verified the dates and the extracts from other speeches. There was one misquotation from Wordsworth which I have corrected.

MANNOCK. I’m not sure that a misquotation isn’t a good thing sometimes. Some fool is sure to write to the papers to point it out, and then one writes back and says that it’s the fault of the reporter or the printer, and then the reporter writes and says--well, it’s all publicity.

READER (_reproachfully_). You remember what _The Spectator_ said last week--the one member of the Cabinet who could be trusted not to bungle a literary quotation.

MANNOCK. Yes, well, that’s something.

READER (_turning the pages_). One or two little angularities of style I have ventured to----Oh, and then there’s this passage. This was not in the Prime Minister’s draft----

MANNOCK (_looking over his shoulder_). No, it wasn’t, was it?

READER. You seem to go some way beyond your colleagues. Of course it’s not for me----

MANNOCK. Naturally.

READER. I just wanted to be sure that there was no mistake.

MANNOCK. There is no mistake, Reader--at present. It may be necessary for there to be one later on. I may find--later on--that I spoke from the wrong draft, in error. You understand?

READER. Quite so, sir. I thought I would just mention it.

MANNOCK. That’s right.... And now, my dear fellow, I have something to tell you which I cannot flatter myself will be the distress to you that it is to me. The fact is that I am unable to avail myself of your services, your very great services, any longer.

READER (_utterly taken aback_). You mean that I--that you----

MANNOCK. I’m afraid so, Reader.

READER. But what have I--aren’t you----

MANNOCK. Perfectly satisfied. Oh, it’s not that at all. I can recommend you with the utmost confidence, and, in fact, I will make it my business to see that you are comfortably settled with some one else. But my son is very anxious to get an insight into politics, and I have been thinking that the best way--it has been in my mind for some weeks, and he is delighted at the suggestion--the best way would be for him to take over your duties, and----(_Fingering the cheque_) In the circumstances, I have ventured to make this out for two months’ salary, although I shall only require your services for one month longer. Here you are, my dear fellow.

READER (_mechanically_). That’s very good of you, sir.... It’s a little awkward--my wife--coming just now--she’s not--she will be----(_Looking at the cheque_) Of course this is very generous of you----

MANNOCK. Not at all. I owe it to you. But you understand that I must think of my boy--it is his desire----

READER. Of course, sir. Naturally that comes first with you. I only wish--you see, just now my wife----

MANNOCK (_holding up his hand_). I don’t think, Reader, that I can be expected----(_Reproachfully_) I can hardly be expected----

READER. No, no, of course not.... Coming just now--she will be frightened----

MANNOCK. I think that both of you will be distressing yourselves needlessly. There will be no difficulty whatever about finding you----I will speak to Mr. Capp to-morrow. Remind me. I fancy that Carfax----

LADY JANE _comes in_.

LADY JANE. Busy?

MANNOCK (_glad of the interruption_). Oh no, not at all. (_To_ READER) Then that’s understood. I will speak to-morrow to Mr. Capp. I think Carfax is the man. (_Taking the speech from him_) Thank you. Good-night, Reader.

READER (_a trifle dazed_). Good-night, sir. Good-night, Lady Jane.

LADY JANE. Good-night. (_He goes out._ LADY JANE _sits down gracefully_. MANNOCK _stands at the fireplace, turning over the pages of his speech_) Arthur tells me he’s coming to you.

MANNOCK. Yes.

LADY JANE. I’m glad.

MANNOCK. You heard what he’d been doing?

LADY JANE. Yes. Silly boy.

MANNOCK. He didn’t realise--and I didn’t tell him.

LADY JANE. The least thing might make the difference now.

MANNOCK. Yes.

LADY JANE. Bertie tells me that C. J. is going to the Lords almost at once.

MANNOCK. I thought you knew.

LADY JANE. Not definitely. I suppose Mowbray will be Chancellor of the Exchequer?

MANNOCK. Sure to be.

LADY JANE. Bertie seemed to think it wasn’t absolutely settled yet.

MANNOCK. The Duke doesn’t like Mowbray, of course.

LADY JANE. No.... It’s all been so sudden. We haven’t had time to do anything.

MANNOCK. C. J. has been breaking up for months.

LADY JANE. Yes, but not publicly before. He might easily have lasted another year.

MANNOCK. Yes.

LADY JANE. Suppose it _is_ Mowbray, who’ll have the Admiralty? (MANNOCK _shrugs his shoulders_.) Would _you_ take it?

MANNOCK (_not sure_). What do you think?

LADY JANE. No.

MANNOCK. Yes, that’s what I feel.

LADY JANE. “Too devoted to your present work,” and so on. That always sounds well with the public.

MANNOCK. Yes. (_They smile faintly at each other, and are silent, both thinking...._) Eversley gone?

LADY JANE. Yes.

MANNOCK. What did you do about that week-end?

LADY JANE. Left it vague. Said I’d write.

MANNOCK (_relieved_). Ah! Then, in that case, I think perhaps----

LADY JANE. So do I.... It’s always a mistake--trying to get back.

MANNOCK. Yes.... Bertie knew about him. The Garden Eversley.

LADY JANE (_surprised_). Oh?... Oh! (_meaning that, of course, that makes a difference_) ... Oh, then perhaps----

MANNOCK (_shaking his head_). I think I would rather--He’s a little disturbing.

LADY JANE. They always are--coming in suddenly from outside like that. Particularly when----

MANNOCK (_wishing to be fair_). He was the Vicar’s son, I was the Doctor’s.

LADY JANE. Oh, _then_, yes.... (_She gets up_) Shall I see you in the morning?

MANNOCK. I don’t expect so. I have a fairly early train. There are the two meetings.

LADY JANE. Yes.... Leeds might make a difference.

MANNOCK. It might.

LADY JANE. I suppose Mowbray _is_ a certainty?

MANNOCK (_with a shrug_). He may not last long.

LADY JANE. If only we had seen it coming.... Bertie doesn’t think much of him.

MANNOCK. Bertie, no.

LADY JANE. Bertie counts for a good deal with the Prime Minister.

MANNOCK. Up to a point, yes. Not beyond.

LADY JANE. Still--(_she is silent for a little and then says_) I sometimes wonder if Freda--(_and is silent again_).

MANNOCK. It would help, of course.

LADY JANE. Yes.... Good-night. (_She holds up her cheek and he kisses it carelessly._)

MANNOCK. Good-night. (_She goes out--to_ FREDA’S _room, we may be sure._)

(MANNOCK _glances at his speech, spreads it out on the desk
beside him, puts on his glasses, and with a final glance at the
opening, stands up and delivers it._)

MANNOCK. Mr. Chairman, my lords, ladies and gentlemen. In coming before you to-night at this great crisis in our political affairs, when, not for the first time in her eventful history our country stands at the parting of the ways, I am conscious--(_He glances at the speech and corrects himself_)--I am not unconscious--I am not unconscious of a certain pride in the knowledge that it is before my own good friends of Yorkshire--my own people, as I must always think of them--that I am privileged to plead my cause. I was born on Yorkshire soil, I was nurtured through youth to early manhood in the bosom of your hills. Memories of my boyhood come back to me as I stand here to-night ... memories of those happy days return to me (_And quite unexpectedly, just for a moment, they do. He breaks off, and says in a whisper_) Those happy days.... (_He is at Enderways now. There, armed to the teeth, march_ NITE _and_ SQUIER; _there, waiting to be rescued_, sits the BUTEUS MAIDEN. _Now it is_ DICK _and_ TEDDY _and_ SALLY. _“Sally!” With a jerk he comes awake again, and hurries back to Leeds_) And so, ladies and gentlemen, in delivering my message to you to-night--speaking as I do, not only for myself, but for the Government which I have the honour to represent.... (_And so on. We can always read it in “The Times.”_)