Complete Plays of John Galsworthy Part 170

CONSTABLE. [Consulting with him.] Well, sir, we can't get over the facts, can we? There it is! You know what sooicide amounts to-- it's an awkward job.

WELLWYN. [Calming himself with an effort.] But look here, Constable, as a reasonable man--This poor wretched little girl--you know what that life means better than anyone! Why! It's to her credit to try and jump out of it!

[The CONSTABLE shakes his head.]

WELLWYN. You said yourself her best friends couldn't wish her better! [Dropping his voice still more.] Everybody feels it! The Vicar was here a few minutes ago saying the very same thing--the Vicar, Constable! [The CONSTABLE shakes his head.] Ah! now, look here, I know something of her. Nothing can be done with her. We all admit it. Don't you see? Well, then hang it--you needn't go and make fools of us all by----

FERRAND. Monsieur, it is the first of April.

CONSTABLE. [With a sharp glance at him.] Can't neglect me duty, sir; that's impossible.

WELLWYN. Look here! She--slipped. She's been telling me. Come, Constable, there's a good fellow. May be the making of her, this.

CONSTABLE. I quite appreciate your good 'eart, sir, an' you make it very 'ard for me--but, come now! I put it to you as a gentleman, would you go back on yer duty if you was me?

[WELLWYN raises his hat, and plunges his fingers through and through his hair.]

WELLWYN. Well! G.o.d in heaven! Of all the d---d topsy--turvy--!

Not a soul in the world wants her alive--and now she's to be prosecuted for trying to be where everyone wishes her.

CONSTABLE. Come, sir, come! Be a man!

[Throughout all this MRS. MEGAN has sat stolidly before the fire, but as FERRAND suddenly steps forward she looks up at him.]

FERRAND. Do not grieve, Monsieur! This will give her courage.

There is nothing that gives more courage than to see the irony of things. [He touches MRS. MEGAN'S shoulder.] Go, my child; it will do you good.

[MRS. MEGAN rises, and looks at him dazedly.]

CONSTABLE. [Coming forward, and taking her by the hand.] That's my good la.s.s. Come along! We won't hurt you.

MRS. MEGAN. I don't want to go. They'll stare at me.

CONSTABLE. [Comforting.] Not they! I'll see to that.

WELLWYN. [Very upset.] Take her in a cab, Constable, if you must --for G.o.d's sake! [He pulls out a s.h.i.+lling.] Here!

CONSTABLE. [Taking the s.h.i.+lling.] I will, sir, certainly. Don't think I want to----

WELLWYN. No, no, I know. You're a good sort.

CONSTABLE. [Comfortable.] Don't you take on, sir. It's her first try; they won't be hard on 'er. Like as not only bind 'er over in her own recogs. not to do it again. Come, my dear.

MRS. MEGAN. [Trying to free herself from the policeman's cloak.] I want to take this off. It looks so funny.

[As she speaks the door is opened by ANN; behind whom is dimly seen the form of old TIMSON, still heading the curious persons.]

ANN. [Looking from one to the other in amazement.] What is it?

What's happened? Daddy!

FERRAND. [Out of the silence.] It is nothing, Ma'moiselle! She has failed to drown herself. They run her in a little.

WELLWYN. Lend her your jacket, my dear; she'll catch her death.

[ANN, feeling MRS. MEGAN's arm, strips of her jacket, and helps her into it without a word.]

CONSTABLE. [Donning his cloak.] Thank you. Miss--very good of you, I'm sure.

MRS. MEGAN. [Mazed.] It's warm!

[She gives them all a last half-smiling look, and Pa.s.ses with the CONSTABLE through the doorway.]

FERRAND. That makes the third of us, Monsieur. We are not in luck.

To wish us dead, it seems, is easier than to let us die.

[He looks at ANN, who is standing with her eyes fixed on her father. WELLWYN has taken from his pocket a visiting card.]

WELLWYN. [To FERRAND.] Here quick; take this, run after her! When they've done with her tell her to come to us.

FERRAND. [Taking the card, and reading the address.] "No. 7, Haven House, Flight Street!" Rely on me, Monsieur--I will bring her myself to call on you. 'Au revoir, mon bon Monsieur'!

[He bends over WELLWYN's hand; then, with a bow to ANN goes out; his tattered figure can be seen through the window, pa.s.sing in the wind. WELLWYN turns back to the fire. The figure of TIMSON advances into the doorway, no longer holding in either hand a waterproof leg-piece.]

TIMSON. [In a croaky voice.] Sir!

WELLWYN. What--you, Timson?

TIMSON. On me larst legs, sir. 'Ere! You can see 'em for yerself!

Shawn't trouble yer long....

WELLWYN. [After a long and desperate stare.] Not now--TIMSON not now! Take this! [He takes out another card, and hands it to TIMSON] Some other time.

TIMSON. [Taking the card.] Yer new address! You are a gen'leman.

[He lurches slowly away.]

[ANN shuts the street door and sets her back against it. The rumble of the approaching van is heard outside. It ceases.]

ANN. [In a fateful voice.] Daddy! [They stare at each other.] Do you know what you've done? Given your card to those six rotters.

WELLWYN. [With a blank stare.] Six?

ANN. [Staring round the naked room.] What was the good of this?

WELLWYN. [Following her eyes---very gravely.] Ann! It is stronger than me.

[Without a word ANN opens the door, and walks straight out.

With a heavy sigh, WELLWYN sinks down on the little stool before the fire. The three humble-men come in.]

CHIEF HUMBLE-MAN. [In an att.i.tude of expectation.] This is the larst of it, sir.