Chapter III: Act III

_It is Sunday morning, about ten o’clock. There are various breakfast
dishes on a side table, and a big table is laid down centre._

[_SANDY appears at the top of the stairs. On seeing no one
about, he comes down quickly and furtively helps himself to
eggs and bacon and coffee, and seats himself at the table.
He eats very hurriedly, casting occasional glances over his
shoulder. A door bangs somewhere upstairs, which terrifies him;
he chokes violently. When he has recovered, he tears a bit of
toast from a rack, butters it and marmalades it, and crams it
into his mouth. Then, hearing somebody approaching, he darts
into the library._

[_JACKIE comes downstairs timorously; her expression is dismal,
to say the least of it. She looks miserably out of the window
at the pouring rain, then, assuming an air of spurious bravado,
she helps herself to some breakfast and sits down and looks at
it. After one or two attempts to eat it, she bursts into tears._

[_SANDY opens the library door a crack, and peeps out. JACKIE,
seeing the door move, screams. SANDY re-enters._

JACKIE: Oh, it’s only you—you frightened me!

SANDY: What’s the matter?

JACKIE (_sniffing_): Nothing.

SANDY: I say, don’t cry.

JACKIE: I’m not crying.

SANDY: You were—I heard you.

JACKIE: It’s this house. It gets on my nerves.

SANDY: I don’t wonder—after last night.

JACKIE: What were you doing in the library just now?

SANDY: Hiding.

JACKIE: Hiding?

SANDY: Yes; I didn’t want to run up against any of the family.

JACKIE: I wish I’d never come. I had horrible nightmares with all those fearful dragons crawling across the wall.

SANDY: Dragons?

JACKIE: Yes; I’m in a Japanese room—everything in it’s Japanese, even the bed.

SANDY: How awful!

JACKIE: I believe they’re all mad, you know.

SANDY: The Blisses?

JACKIE: Yes—they must be.

SANDY: I’ve been thinking that too.

JACKIE: Do you suppose they know they’re mad?

SANDY: No; people never do.

JACKIE: It was Mr. Bliss asked me down, and he hasn’t paid any attention to me at all. I went into his study soon after I arrived yesterday, and he said, “Who the hell are you?”

SANDY: Didn’t he remember?

JACKIE: He did afterwards; then he brought me down to tea and left me.

SANDY: Are you really engaged to Simon?

JACKIE (_bursting into tears again_): Oh, no—I hope not!

SANDY: You were, last night.

JACKIE: So were you—to Sorel.

SANDY: Not properly. We talked it over.

JACKIE: I don’t know what happened to me. I was in the garden with Simon, and he was being awfully sweet, and then he suddenly kissed me, and rushed into the house and said we were engaged—and that hateful Judith asked me to make him happy!

SANDY: That’s exactly what happened to me and Sorel. Judith gave us to one another before we knew where we were.

JACKIE: How frightful!

SANDY: I like Sorel, though; she was jolly decent about it afterwards.

JACKIE: I think she’s a cat.

SANDY: Why?

JACKIE: Look at the way she lost her temper over that beastly game.

SANDY: All the same, she’s better than the others.

JACKIE: That wouldn’t be very difficult.

SANDY: Hic!

JACKIE: I beg your pardon?

SANDY (_abashed_): I say—I’ve got hiccoughs.

JACKIE: Hold your breath.

SANDY: It was because I bolted my breakfast. (_He holds his breath._)

JACKIE: Hold it as long as you can.

[_There is a pause._

SANDY (_letting his breath go with a gasp_): I can’t any more—hic!

JACKIE: Eat a lump of sugar.

SANDY (_taking one_): I’m awfully sorry.

JACKIE: I don’t mind—but it’s a horrid feeling, isn’t it?

SANDY: Horrid—hic!

JACKIE (_conversationally_): People have died from hiccoughs, you know.

SANDY (_gloomily_): Have they?

JACKIE: Yes. An aunt of mine once had them for three days without stopping.

SANDY: How beastly.

JACKIE (_with relish_): She had to have the doctor, and everything.

SANDY: I expect mine will stop soon.

JACKIE: I hope they will.

SANDY: Hic!—There!

JACKIE: Drink some water the wrong way round.

SANDY: How do you mean—the wrong way round?

JACKIE (_rising_): The wrong side of the glass. I’ll show you. (_She goes to side table._) There isn’t any water.

SANDY: Perhaps coffee would do as well.

JACKIE: I’ve never tried coffee, but it might. (_She pours him out some._) There you are.

SANDY (_anxiously_): What do I do?

JACKIE: Tip it up and drink from the opposite side, sort of upside down.

SANDY (_trying_): I can’t reach any——

JACKIE (_suddenly_): Look out—somebody’s coming. Bring it into the library—quick....

SANDY: Bring the sugar—I might need it again—hic! Oh God!

JACKIE: All right.

[_They go off into the library hurriedly._

[_RICHARD comes downstairs. He glances round a trifle
anxiously; then, pulling himself together, he goes boldly to
the barometer and taps it. It falls off the wall and breaks; he
picks it up quickly and places it on the piano. Then he helps
himself to some breakfast, and sits down._

[_MYRA appears on the stairs, very smart and bright._

MYRA (_vivaciously_): Good morning.

RICHARD: Good morning.

MYRA: Are we the first down?

RICHARD: No, I don’t think so.

MYRA (_looking out of the window_): Isn’t this rain miserable?

RICHARD: Appalling!

MYRA: Where’s the barometer?

RICHARD: On the piano.

MYRA: What a queer place for it to be.

RICHARD: I tapped it, and it fell down.

MYRA: Typical of this house. (_At side table_) Are you having eggs and bacon, or haddock?

RICHARD: Haddock.

MYRA: I’ll have haddock too. I simply couldn’t strike out a line for myself this morning. (_She helps herself to haddock and coffee, and sits down opposite RICHARD._) Have you seen anybody?

RICHARD: No.

MYRA: Good. We might have a little peace.

RICHARD: Have you ever stayed here before?

MYRA: No, and I never will again.

RICHARD: I feel far from well this morning.

MYRA: I’m so sorry, but not entirely surprised.

RICHARD: You see, I had the boiler room.

MYRA: How terrible!

RICHARD: The window stuck, and I couldn’t open it—I was nearly suffocated. The pipes made peculiar noises all night, as well.

MYRA: There isn’t any sugar.

RICHARD: Oh—we’d better ring.

MYRA: I doubt if it will be the slightest use, but we’ll try.

RICHARD (_ringing and ringing bell_): Do the whole family have breakfast in bed?

MYRA: I neither know—nor care.

RICHARD: They’re strange people, aren’t they?

MYRA: I think “strange” is putting it mildly.

[_Enter CLARA._

CLARA: What’s the matter?

MYRA: There isn’t any sugar.

CLARA: There is—I put it ’ere myself.

MYRA: Perhaps you’d find it for us, then?

CLARA (_searching_): That’s very funny. I could ’ave sworn on me Bible oath I brought it in.

MYRA: Well, it obviously isn’t here now.

CLARA: Someone’s taken it—that’s what it is.

RICHARD: It seems a queer thing to do.

MYRA: Do you think you could get us some more?

CLARA: Oh, yes, I’ll fetch you some; but mark my words, there’s been some ’anky-panky somewhere. (_She goes out._)

MYRA: Clara is really more at home in a dressing-room than a house.

RICHARD: Was she Judith’s dresser?

MYRA: Of course. What other excuse could there possibly be for her?

RICHARD: She seems good-natured, but quaint.

MYRA: This haddock’s disgusting.

RICHARD: It isn’t very nice, is it?

[_Re-enter CLARA with sugar. She plumps it down._

CLARA: There you are, dear.

MYRA: Thank you.

CLARA: It’s a shame the weather’s changed—you might ’ave ’ad such fun up the river.

[_There comes the sound of a crash from the library, and a
scream._

What’s that? (_She opens the door._) Come out! What are you doing?

[_JACKIE and SANDY enter, rather shamefaced._

JACKIE: Good morning. I’m afraid we’ve broken a coffee-cup.

CLARA: Was there any coffee in it?

SANDY: Yes, a good deal.

CLARA (_rushing into the library_): Oh dear! all over the carpet!

SANDY: It was my fault. I’m most awfully sorry.

[_CLARA reappears._

CLARA: How did you come to do it?

JACKIE: Well, you see, he had the hiccoughs, and I was showing him how to drink upside down.

MYRA: How ridiculous!

CLARA: Well, thank ’Eaven it wasn’t one of the Crown Derbys. (_She goes out._)

SANDY: They’ve gone now, anyhow.

JACKIE: It was the sudden shock, I expect.

SANDY (_observantly_): I say—it’s raining!

MYRA: It’s been raining for hours.

RICHARD: Mrs. Arundel——

MYRA: Yes?

RICHARD: What are you going to do about—about to-day?

MYRA: Nothing, except go up to London by the first train possible.

RICHARD: Do you mind if I come too? I don’t think I could face another day like yesterday.

JACKIE: Neither could I.

SANDY (_eagerly_): Let’s all go away—quietly!

RICHARD: Won’t it seem a little rude if we _all_ go?

MYRA: Yes it will. (_To SANDY_) You and Miss Coryton must stay.

JACKIE: I don’t see why.

SANDY: I don’t think they’d mind _very_ much if we all went.

MYRA: Yes, they would. You must let Mr. Greatham and me get away first, anyhow. Ring for Clara. I want to find out about trains.

RICHARD: I hope they won’t all come down now.

MYRA: You needn’t worry about that; they’re sure to roll about in bed for hours—they’re such a slovenly family.

RICHARD: Have you got much packing to do?

MYRA: No; I did most of it before I came down.

[_Re-enter CLARA._

CLARA: What is it now?

MYRA: Can you tell me what trains there are up to London?

CLARA: When?

MYRA: This morning.

CLARA: Why?—you’re not leaving, are you?

MYRA: Yes; Mr. Greatham and I have to be up by lunch-time.

CLARA: Well, you have missed the 10.15.

MYRA: Obviously.

CLARA: There isn’t another till 12.30.

RICHARD: Good heavens!

CLARA: And that’s a slow one. (_She goes out._)

SANDY (_to JACKIE_): Look here; I’ll take you up in my car as soon as you like.

JACKIE: All right; lovely!

MYRA: You’ve got a car, haven’t you?

SANDY: Yes.

MYRA: Will it hold all of us?

JACKIE: You said it would be rude for us all to go. Hadn’t you and Mr. Greatham better wait for the train?

MYRA: Certainly not.

RICHARD (_to SANDY_): If there is room, we should be very, very grateful.

SANDY: I think I can squeeze you in.

MYRA: Then that’s settled, then.

JACKIE: When shall we start?

SANDY: As soon as you’re ready.

JACKIE: Mrs. Arundel, what are you going to do about tipping Clara?

MYRA: I don’t know. (_To RICHARD_) What do you think?

RICHARD: I’ve hardly seen her since I’ve been here.

JACKIE: Isn’t there a housemaid or anything?

RICHARD: I don’t think so.

SANDY: Is ten bob enough?

JACKIE: Each?

MYRA: Too much.

RICHARD: We’d better give her one pound ten between us.

MYRA: Very well, then. Will you do it, and we’ll settle up in the car?

RICHARD: Must I?

MYRA: Yes. Ring for her.

RICHARD: You’d do it much better.

[_SANDY rings the bell._

MYRA: Oh, no, I shouldn’t. (_To JACKIE_) Come on; we’ll finish our packing.

JACKIE: All right.

[_They begin to go upstairs._

RICHARD: Here—don’t leave me.

SANDY: I’ll just go and look at the car. Will you all be ready in ten minutes?

MYRA: Yes, ten minutes. (_She goes off with JACKIE._)

SANDY: Righto. (_He rushes out._)

[_CLARA re-enters._

CLARA: ’Allo, where’s everybody gone?

RICHARD: They’ve gone to get ready. We’re leaving in Mr. Tyrell’s car.

CLARA: A bit sudden, isn’t it?

RICHARD (_pressing money into her hand_): This is from all of us, Clara. Thank you very much for all your trouble.

CLARA (_surprised_): Aren’t you a dear, now! There wasn’t any trouble.

RICHARD: There must have been a lot of extra work.

CLARA: One gets used to that ’ere.

RICHARD: Good-bye, Clara. (_He goes upstairs._)

[_CLARA proceeds to clear away the dirty breakfast things,
which she takes out. She returns with a fresh pot of coffee,
and meets JUDITH coming downstairs._

JUDITH: Good morning, Clara. Have the papers come?

CLARA: Yes—I’ll fetch them. (_She goes out._)

[_JUDITH pours herself out some coffee, and sits down._

[_CLARA re-enters with papers._

JUDITH: Thank you. You’ve forgotten my orange juice.

CLARA: No, I ’aven’t, dear; it’s just outside. (_She goes out again._)

[_JUDITH turns to the theatrical column of the “Sunday Times.”_

[_SOREL comes downstairs and kisses her._

SOREL: Good morning, darling.

JUDITH: Listen to this. (_She reads_) “We saw Judith Bliss in a box at the Haymarket on Tuesday, looking as lovely as ever.” There now! I thought I looked hideous on Tuesday.

SOREL: You looked sweet. (_She goes to get herself some breakfast._)

[_CLARA reappears, with a glass of orange juice._

CLARA (_placing it in front of JUDITH_): Did you see that nice bit in _The Referee_?

JUDITH: No—_The Times_.

CLARA: _The Referee’s_ much better. (_She finds the place and hands it to SOREL._)

SOREL (_reading_): “I saw gay and colourful Judith Bliss at the Waifs and Strays Matinée last week. She was talking vivaciously to Producer Basil Dean. ‘I’ sooth,’ said I to myself, ‘where ignorance is Bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.’”

JUDITH (_taking it from her_): Dear _Referee_! It’s so unself-conscious.

CLARA: If you want any more coffee, ring for it. (_She goes out._)

SOREL (_sitting down_): I wish I were sitting on a lovely South Sea island, with masses of palm trees and cocoanuts and turtles——

JUDITH: It would be divine, wouldn’t it?

SOREL: I wonder where everybody is?

JUDITH (_still reading_): I wonder.... Mary Saunders has got another failure.

SOREL: She must be used to it by now.

[_SIMON comes downstairs with a rush._

SIMON (_kissing JUDITH_): Good morning, darling.—Look! (_He shows her a newly completed sketch._)

JUDITH: Simon! How lovely! When did you do it?

SIMON: This morning—I woke early.

SOREL (_rising and craning over JUDITH’S shoulder_): Let’s see.

SIMON (_over the other shoulder_): I’m going to alter Helen’s face; it’s too pink.

SOREL (_laughing_): It’s exactly like her.

JUDITH: What a clever son I have!

SIMON: Now then, Mother!

JUDITH: It’s too wonderful—when I think of you both in your perambulators.... Oh dear, it makes me cry! (_She sniffs._)

SOREL: I don’t believe you ever saw us in our perambulators.

JUDITH: I don’t believe I did.

[_DAVID comes downstairs._

DAVID (_hilariously_): It’s finished!

JUDITH: What, dear?

DAVID: _The Sinful Woman._

JUDITH: How splendid. Read it to us now.

DAVID: I’ve got the last chapter here.

JUDITH: Go on, then.

[_SANDY rushes in from the front door. On seeing everyone, he
halts._

SANDY: Good morning. (_He bolts upstairs two at a time._)

JUDITH: I seem to know that boy’s face.

DAVID (_preparing to read_): Listen. You remember when Violet was taken ill in Paris?

JUDITH: Yes, dear.—Marmalade, Simon.

DAVID: Well, I’ll go on from there.

JUDITH: Do, dear.

DAVID (_reading_): “Paris in spring, with the Champs Elysées alive and dancing in the sunlight; lightly dressed children like gay painted butterflies——”

SIMON (_whispering to SOREL_): What’s happened to the barometer?

SOREL (_sibilantly_): I don’t know.

DAVID: Damn the barometer!

JUDITH: Don’t get cross, dear.

DAVID: Why can’t you keep quiet, Simon, or go away!

SIMON: Sorry, Father.

DAVID: Well, don’t interrupt again.... (_Reading_) “... gay painted butterflies; the streets were thronged with hurrying vehicles, the thin peek-peek of taxi-hooters——”

SOREL: I love “peek-peek.”

DAVID (_ignoring her_): “——seemed to merge in with the other vivid noises weaving a vast pattern of sound which was Paris. Jane Sefton, in her scarlet Hispano, swept out of the Rue St. Honoré into the Place de la Concorde——”

JUDITH: She couldn’t have.

DAVID: Why?

JUDITH: The Rue St. Honoré doesn’t lead into the Place de la Concorde.

DAVID: Yes, it does.

SOREL: You’re thinking of the Rue Boissy d’Anglas, Father.

DAVID: I’m not thinking of anything of the sort.

JUDITH: David darling, don’t be obstinate.

DAVID (_hotly_): Do you think I don’t know Paris as well as you do?

SIMON: Never mind. Father’s probably right.

SOREL: He isn’t right—he’s wrong!

DAVID: Go on with your food, Sorel.

JUDITH: Don’t be testy, David: it’s a sign of age.

DAVID (_firmly_): “Jane Sefton, in her scarlet Hispano, swept out of the Rue St. Honoré into the Place de la Concorde——”

JUDITH: That sounds absolutely ridiculous. Why don’t you alter it?

DAVID: It isn’t ridiculous; it’s perfectly right.

JUDITH: Very well, then; get a map, and I’ll show you.

SIMON: We haven’t got a map.

DAVID (_putting his MS. down_): Now, look here, Judith—here’s the Rue Royale—(_He arranges the butter-dish and marmalade-pot._)—here’s the Crillon Hotel, and _here’s_ the Rue St. Honoré——

JUDITH: It isn’t—it’s the Boissy d’Anglas.

DAVID: That runs parallel with the Rue de Rivoli.

JUDITH: You’ve got it all muddled.

DAVID (_loudly_): I have _not_ got it all muddled.

JUDITH: Don’t shout. You have.

SIMON: Why not let Father get on with it?

JUDITH: It’s so silly to get cross at criticism—it indicates a small mind.

DAVID: Small mind my foot!

JUDITH: That was very rude. I shall go to my room in a minute.

DAVID: I wish you would.

JUDITH (_outraged_): David!

SOREL: Look here, Father, Mother’s right—here’s the Place de la Concorde——

SIMON: Oh, shut up, Sorel.

SOREL: Shut up yourself, you pompous little beast.

SIMON: You think you know such a lot about everything, and you’re as ignorant as a frog.

SOREL: Why a frog?

JUDITH: I give you my solemn promise, David, that you’re wrong.

DAVID: I don’t want your solemn promise, because I _know_ I’m right.

SIMON: It’s no use arguing with Father, Mother.

SOREL: Why isn’t it any use arguing with Father?

SIMON: Because you’re both so pig-headed!

DAVID: Are you content to sit here, Judith, and let your son insult me?

JUDITH: He’s your son as well as mine.

DAVID: I begin to doubt it.

JUDITH (_bursting into tears of rage_): David!

SIMON (_consoling her_): Father, how can you!

DAVID (_rising_): I’ll never attempt to read any of you anything again as long as I live. You’re not a bit interested in my work, and you don’t give a damn whether I’m a success or a failure.

JUDITH: You’re dead certain to be a failure if you cram your books with inaccuracies.

DAVID (_hammering the table with his fist_): _I am not inaccurate!_

JUDITH: Yes, you are; and you’re foul-tempered and spoilt.

DAVID: Spoilt! I like that! Nobody here spoils me—you’re the most insufferable family to live with——

JUDITH: Well, why in Heaven’s name don’t you go and live somewhere else?

DAVID: There’s gratitude!

JUDITH: Gratitude for what, I’d like to know?

SOREL: Mother, keep calm.

JUDITH: Calm! I’m furious.

DAVID: What have you got to be furious about? Everyone rushing round adoring you and saying how wonderful you are——

JUDITH: I am wonderful, Heaven knows, to have stood you for all these years.

SOREL: Mother, do sit down and be quiet.

SIMON: How dare you speak to Mother like that!

[_During this scene MYRA, JACKIE, RICHARD and SANDY creep
downstairs, with their bags, unperceived by the family. They
make for the front door._

JUDITH (_wailing_): Oh, oh! To think that my daughter should turn against me!

DAVID: Don’t be theatrical.

JUDITH: I’m not theatrical—I’m wounded to the heart.

DAVID: Rubbish—rubbish—rubbish!

JUDITH: Don’t you say Rubbish to me!

DAVID: I _will_ say Rubbish!

SOREL: } Ssshhh, Father!
SIMON: } That’s right! Be the dutiful daughter and encourage your
father——
DAVID: } Listen to me, Judith——
JUDITH: } Oh, this is dreadful—dreadful!

SOREL: } The whole thing doesn’t really matter in the least——
SIMON: } —to insult your mother——
DAVID: } The Place de la Concorde——
JUDITH: } I never realised how small you were, David. You’re tiny——

[_The universal pandemonium is suddenly broken by the front
door slamming. There is dead silence for a moment, then the
noise of a car is heard._

[_SOREL runs and looks out of the window._

SIMON: There now!

SOREL: They’ve all gone!

JUDITH (_sitting down_): How very rude!

DAVID (_also sitting down_): People really do behave in the most extraordinary manner these days——

JUDITH: Come back and finish your breakfast, Sorel.

SOREL: All right. (_She sits down._)

SIMON: Toast, please, Sorel.

SOREL (_passing it to him_): Here.

JUDITH: Go on, David; I’m dying to hear the end——

DAVID (_reading_): “Jane Sefton, in her scarlet Hispano, swept out of the Rue Boissy d’Anglas into the Place Vêndome——”

JUDITH: I meant to tell you before, David—I’ve made a great decision.

DAVID (_amiably_): What is it?

JUDITH: I really am going to return to the stage!

CURTAIN.

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_NOCTURNE IN PALERMO. By CLIFFORD BAX_

_“A delightful miniature.”—“Daily Telegraph.”_

_THE RIGORDANS. By EDWARD PERCY_

_“Strong, sombre, moving drama ... a play to read.”—“Manchester
Guardian.”_

_KRISHNA KUMARI. By EDWARD THOMPSON_

_“A play about India and a very fine one.”—“Nation and
Athenæum.”_

_CONTEMPORARY AMERICAN DRAMATISTS_

_THE VERGE. By SUSAN GLASPELL. (2nd Impression.)_

_“Extraordinarily interesting, besides being very unusual.
Fresh, curious, and dramatically alive.... Here there is revolt
against the platitude, the convention, but the repudiation
of life as it is goes far beyond the social rebellion ... it
is an attempt to capture something beyond the reaches of our
souls.”—“Manchester Guardian.”_

_“Few living dramatists have succeeded so well in amalgamating
psychology with perfect stagecraft.”—“Westminster Gazette.”_

_INHERITORS. By SUSAN GLASPELL_

_“This is a fine play ... one would not rank it below ‘An Enemy
of the People,’ and for my own part I am inclined to think it
ranks with ‘The Master Builder.’”—James Agate in the “Sunday
Times.”_

_“There is no mistaking the power and insight of her
characterisation ... the first act is a little epic of the
pioneer days of America, beautifully written and deeply
felt.”—“Daily Telegraph.”_

_BERNICE. By SUSAN GLASPELL_

_“Remorselessly, every word striking home, this quiet tragedy
works to an end.”—“The Weekly Westminster.”_

_“By very subtle touches Susan Glaspell builds up the character
of Bernice, a woman who died before the play opens.”—E. A.
Baughan in the “Daily News.”_

_MOSES. A Play, a Protest, and a Proposal. By LAWRENCE LANGNER_

_“Entertaining and effective ... always incisive and usually
profound.”—“Manchester Guardian.”_

_THE SPRING. By GEORGE CRAM COOK_

_“Is a work of arresting theme and highly imaginative
workmanship.”—The late William Archer._

_“A strange and arresting play on the psychic, mixing argument
with emotion in an extraordinary manner.”—Kenneth MacGowan._

_NEW PLAYS IN PREPARATION_

_THE FIREBRAND. By EDWIN JUSTUS MAYER_

_THE SPORT OF GODS. By JOHN COURNOS_

_FOUR ONE ACT PLAYS. GWEN JOHN_

_OTHER PLAYS PUBLISHED BY ERNEST BENN LTD_

_BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK. By GEORGE S. KAUFMAN & MARC CONNELLY_

_“A quaint and rollicking ‘nightmare play.’”—“Referee.”_

_“This amusing satire ... is the fiercest satire on materialism
we have ever read.”—“Daily Graphic.”_

_THE COLONNADE. By STARK YOUNG_

_“Mr. Stark Young makes his effects with a beautiful simplicity
and you have not to read far to perceive that ‘The Colonnade’
is a remarkable play. It comes to significant life in a
scene, full of emotion, between father and son. There is a
strong opposition of wills, and the difference between them
repeats the difference that had separated the father from his
wife.”—Allan Monkhouse in the “Manchester Guardian.”_

_THE MACHINE WRECKERS. By ERNST TOLLER. Translated by ASHLEY DUKES_

_“It has power and passion and judgment and pity.”—St. John
Ervine in the “Observer.”_

_SHAKESPEARE. By H. F. RUBINSTEIN & CLIFFORD BAX_

_“Their Shakespeare is by far the most life-like, the most
plausible, yet presented in drama—far excelling either Mr.
Shaw’s or Mr. Frank Harris’s.”—“Weekly Westminster.”_

_DOCTOR KNOCK. By JULES ROMAINS. Translated by HARLEY GRANVILLE-BARKER_

_“Monsieur Romains has caught at the crest the modern tyranny
of medicine ... it is a shrewd joke, a timely joke, and well
told.”—“Times.”_

_“Mr. Granville Barker’s latest gift to the English theatre is
an amazingly perfect version of Jules Romains’ clever satire:
Dr. Knock.”—“Daily Telegraph.”_