Читать книгу Dolly Reforming Herself - Henry Arthur Jones - Страница 8

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Scene: Drawing-room at Harry Telfer's, The Gables, Crookbury Green, Surrey. A well-furnished room in a modern red brick country house. At the back, a little to the right, is a door leading into the hall. All along the right side is a glass partition, showing a conservatory which is entered by glass doors, one up stage, the other down. On the left side is a large fireplace. At the back, in the centre, is a handsome writing-desk with a shut down flap lid. Above the fireplace, facing the audience is a large sofa. To the right of sofa, and below it in the left centre of the room is a small table, and near to it an easy chair. Right centre down stage is a larger table.

Time: The afternoon of 1st January, 1907.

Discover at writing-table, back to audience, Dolly Telfer, a bright little woman about thirty, busied with bills and papers. Bending over her, back to audience, is her father, Matt Barron, a pleasant-looking, easy-going cynic of sixty. Harry Telfer, Dolly's husband, an ordinary good-natured, weakish, impulsive Englishman about thirty-five, is standing with his back to the fire. Sitting on sofa, reading a scientific book, is Professor Sturgess, a hard, dry, narrow, fattish scientific man about forty-five. At the table, right, reading a French novel, is Renie Sturgess, the Professor's wife, a tall, dark, handsome woman about thirty.

Harry. No, I can't say that I pay very much attention to sermons as a rule, but Pilcher gave us a regular downright, no-mistake-about-it, rouser at the Watch-night Service last night.

Matt. [Turning round.] I wonder what precise difference this rousing sermon will make in the conduct of any person who heard it.

Harry. Well, it's going to make a lot of difference in my conduct. At least, I won't say a lot of difference, because I don't call myself a very bad sort of fellow, do you?

Matt. N-o—No——

Harry. At any rate I'm a thundering good husband, ain't I, Dolly? [Dolly takes no notice.] And I've got no flagrant vices. But I've got a heap of—well a heap of selfish little habits, such as temper, and so on, and for the coming year I'm going to knock them all off.

Matt. That will be a score for Pilcher—that is, if you do knock them off.

Harry. Oh, I'm thoroughly resolved! I promised Dolly last night, didn't I, Dolly? [Dolly takes no notice.] Dolly too! Dolly was awfully impressed by the sermon, weren't you, Dolly?

Matt. [Looking round at Dolly's back.] Dolly was awfully impressed?

Harry. Yes. Before we went to bed she gave me her word, that if I'd give her a little help, she'd pay off all her bills, and live within her allowance for the future, didn't you, Dolly?

Matt. Well, that will be another score for Pilcher—that is, if Dolly does live within her allowance.

Harry. Oh, Dolly means it this time, don't you Dolly?

Dolly. [Turns round on her stool, bills in hand.] I think it's disgraceful!

Matt. What?

Dolly. These tradespeople! [Comes down to Matt.] I'm almost sure I've paid this bill once—if not twice. Then there's a mistake of thirty shillings in the addition—you're good at figures, Dad. Do add that up for me. My head is so muddled.

[Giving the bill to Matt.

Harry. Aren't you glad, Doll, that you made that resolution not to have any more bills?

Dolly. It will be heavenly! To go about all day with the blessed thought that I don't owe a farthing to anybody. It's awful!

[Crunching a bill in her hand, and throwing it on to writing-table.

Harry. Cheer up, little woman! You don't owe such a very alarming amount, do you?

Dolly. Oh no! Oh no! And if you'll only help me as you promised——

Harry. We'll go thoroughly into it by-and-by. In fact I did mean to give you a pleasant little Christmas surprise, and pay off all your debts.

Dolly. Oh, you angel! But why didn't you do it?

Harry. I've done it so often! You remember the last time?

Dolly. [Making a wry face.] Yes, I remember the last time.

Harry. And here we are again!

Dolly. Oh, don't talk like a clown!

Harry. But, my dear Dolly, here we are again.

Dolly. Well, I haven't got the money sense! I simply haven't got it! I was born without it!

Matt. [Hands her the bill.] The addition is quite correct.

Dolly. [Taking the bill.] You're sure? Then I'm convinced I've paid it! [Looking at bill.] Yes! Thirty-four, seven, six. Professor Sturgess——

Prof. [Looks up from his book] Yes?

Dolly. You understand all about psychology and the way our brains work.

Prof. I've given my entire life to their study, but I cannot claim that I understand them.

Dolly. But wouldn't you say——

Prof. What?

Dolly. I'm morally certain I've paid this bill.

Matt. Have you got the receipt?

Dolly. No! I must have mislaid it.

Matt. When, and where did you pay it?

Dolly. I cannot recall the exact circumstances. And now——

Matt. And now——?

Dolly. Fulks and Garner have sent me a most impertinent note requesting immediate payment.

Prof. What is the particular brain process that you wish me to explain?

Dolly. How do you account for my having the most vivid impression that I've paid it—so vivid that I cannot shake it off?

Prof. Well—a——

Matt. Isn't it an instance of that obscure operation of the feminine mind whereby the merest wish becomes an accomplished fact?

Dolly. My dear Dad, I actually remember the exact amount: thirty-four, seven, six. Thirty-four, seven, six. I shall never enter Fulks and Garnet's shop again!

Enter Criddle. [Announces.] Captain Wentworth!

Enter Captain Lucas Wentworth, a good-looking smart young army man about thirty. He is in riding-clothes. Exit Criddle. At Captain Wentworth's entrance Renie shows keen interest, throws him a secret glance as he goes to shake hands with Dolly.

Dolly. Ah, Lu! What, over again! Happy New Year once more!

Lucas. Same to you. [Shaking hands.] Happy New Year, everybody! Good afternoon, Harry!

[Nodding to Harry.

Harry. Ditto, Lu.

Lucas. Ah, Uncle Matt! Happy New Year!

[Shaking hands.

Matt. Happy New Year, Lucas!

Lucas. Good afternoon, Mrs. Sturgess.

[Shaking hands with Renie.

Renie. Good afternoon.

Lucas. None the worse for your outing last night, I hope?

Renie. Oh no, I'm sure Mr. Pilcher's sermon ought to make us all very much better.

Dolly. May I introduce you to Professor Sturgess—my cousin Captain Wentworth.

Lucas. How d'ye do?

Prof. How d'ye do?

Matt. So you came over to the Watch-night Service, I hear?

Lucas. Yes! I'd nothing much better to do, and Dolly was cracking up this new parson of yours, so I thought I'd jog over and sample him.

Matt. A dozen miles over here at midnight; an hour's service in a cold church; and a dozen miles back to Aldershot, in the sleet and snow. I hope the sermon thoroughly braced you up!

Lucas. It did. It made me feel just as good as I knew how to be.

Matt. Here's another score for Pilcher!

Dolly. Dad, I think it's shocking bad taste of you to keep on sneering at Mr. Pilcher!

Matt. I'm not sneering. I'm only curious to follow up this wonderful sermon, and trace its results on all of you.

Dolly. Well, you can see its results. [Lucas has got near to Renie, stands with his back to her, takes out a letter from his coat-tail pocket, holds it out for her to take. She takes it, pops it in her novel, and goes on reading. He moves away from her.] Take only our own family. Harry and I both have turned over a new leaf. Renie, you said Mr. Pilcher had set you thinking deeply——

Renie. Yes, dear, very deeply.

Dolly. Lu, you said the sermon had done you a lot of good.

Lucas. Heaps! I won't say I'm going to set up for a saint straight off, because—well—I'm not so sure I could bring it off, even if I tried——

Matt. That's what holds me back, my wretched nervous fear that I shouldn't bring it off. Still, in justice to Pilcher, I hope you're not going to let his sermon be wasted.

Lucas. Oh, no! My first spare five minutes I'm going to brisk about, and do a bit of New Year's tidying up.

[He is standing over Renie, who has opened his letter in her novel; he again exchanges a secret look of understanding with her, and makes a sign to her to go into the conservatory.

Enter Criddle.

Criddle. [Announcing.] Mr. Pilcher!

Enter the Reverend James Pilcher, a big, strong, bright, genial, manly, hearty English parson about forty. Exit Criddle.

Dolly. How d'ye do? [Shaking hands.

Pilcher. How d'ye do? Happy New Year, once more! Happy New Year, Mr. Barron!

Matt. [Shaking hands.] A happy New Year.

Pilcher. How do again, Telfer?

Harry. How are you?

Pilcher. Good morning, Mrs. Sturgess.

Renie. Good morning.

[At Pilcher's entrance she has hidden her French novel behind her in the chair. In shaking hands with Pilcher it drops on to the floor and Lucas's letter drops out. Lucas goes to pick it up, Mr. Pilcher is before him, picks up the novel and letter and hands them to Renie. In taking them she shows some confusion.

Pilcher. [Genially.] Improving the New Year by getting a thorough knowledge of Parisian life and manners, I see.

Renie. [Confused.] No!—I had begun the book a week ago and so I thought—a—I'd better finish it.

Lucas. Good morning, Mr. Pilcher.

Pilcher. [Shaking hands.] Good morning.

Lucas. Rattling good sermon you gave us last night.

Pilcher. I'm glad you thought it worth coming so far to hear.

Lucas. Not at all. Jolly well worth coming for, eh, Mrs. Sturgess?

[With a sly little look and shake of the head at Renie.

Renie. I thoroughly enjoyed it!

Pilcher. [A little surprised.] Enjoyed it! Now I meant to make you all very uncomfortable!

Dolly. Oh, you gave us a good shaking up, and we deserved it! I don't think you've met Professor Sturgess?

Pilcher. [Advancing to Professor.] No, but I've read his book, "Man, the Automaton."

Prof. [Bowing.] Not with disapproval, I trust?

Pilcher. [Shaking hands very cordially.] With the most profound disapproval, with boundless, uncompromising dissent and antagonism!

Prof. I'm sorry!

Pilcher. Why, you deny that man has any vestige of free will.

Prof. Certainly. The longer I live, the more I'm convinced that free will is a purely subjective illusion.

Dolly. Do you mean that when I will to do a certain thing I can't do it? Oh, that's absurd. For instance, I will to go and touch that chair! [She goes and touches it.] There! [Triumphantly.] I've done it! That shows I've got free will. [The Professor shakes his head.] Well, then how did I do it?

Prof. I affirm that your willing to touch that chair or not to touch it, your actual touching it, or not touching it; your possession or non-possession of a criminal impulse——

Dolly. I haven't any criminal impulses——

Prof. [Shakes his head and goes on.] Your yielding to that criminal impulse or your not yielding to it—all these states of consciousness are entirely dependent upon the condition, quantity and arrangement of certain atoms in the gray matter of your brain. You think, you will, you act according as that gray matter works. You did not cause or make that condition of the atoms of your gray matter, therefore you are not responsible for thinking or acting in this way or that, seeing that your thoughts, and your actions, and that direction of your impulses which you call your will, are all precisely determined and regulated by the condition and arrangement of these minute atoms of your gray matter!

Dolly. [Has at first listened with great attention, but has grown bewildered as the Professor goes on.] I don't care anything about my gray matter! I've quite made up my mind I won't have any more bills!

Pilcher. [Turning to Renie.] Does Mrs. Sturgess agree with the Professor's doctrine?

Renie. No, indeed! To say that we're mere machines—it's horrid.

Prof. The question is not whether it's horrid, but whether it's true.

Pilcher. What do you think, Mr. Barron?

Matt. It's a very nutty and knotty problem. I'm watching to see Dolly and Harry solve it!

Dolly. See us solve it! How?

Matt. You and Harry heard a most thrilling, soul-stirring sermon last night.

Pilcher. You had good hearsay accounts of my sermon?

Matt. Excellent! I should have heard it myself, but I've reached an age when it would be dangerous to give up any of my old and cherished bad habits. So in place of going to church and selfishly reforming myself, I shall have to be content with watching Dolly and Harry reform themselves.

Dolly. Don't take any notice of him, Mr. Pilcher, he's the most cynical, hardened reprobate! I have to blush for him a hundred times a day.

[Renie strolls casually into conservatory by lower door. Lucas casually follows her.

Matt. And in order to settle once and for all this vexed question of free will and moral responsibility, I'll bet you, Harry, a simple fiver, and I'll bet you Dolly, a new Parisian hat, and half a dozen pairs of gloves that you won't live up to your good resolutions, and that on next New Year's Day you'll neither of you be one ha'penny the better for all the wise counsels Mr. Pilcher gave you last night.

Harry. A fiver! Done!

Dolly. I'll take you, too! In fact, I'll double it; two new Parisian hats, and a dozen pairs of gloves!

Matt. Done, my dear!

Pilcher. I hope I sha'n't be accused of talking shop if I venture to recall that betting was one of the bad habits I especially warned my congregation against, last night!

Harry. By Jove, yes—I'd forgotten all about that! Of course, if you wish us to cry off——

Pilcher. Well, not exactly. I might perhaps suggest an alternative plan which was tried with great success in my late parish——

Dolly. What was that?

Pilcher. A very capital good fellow—an auctioneer and land surveyor, my churchwarden in fact, by name Jobling—found that in spite of constant good resolutions, certain small vices were gradually creeping upon him. There was an occasional outburst of temper to his clerks, an occasional half glass too much; and on one lamentable market day, he actually discovered himself using bad language to Mrs. Jobling——

Dolly. [Looking at Harry.] Oh! Ah!

Matt. Jobling's gray matter can't have been in good working order.

Pilcher. We corrected that! We got his gray matter under control.

Dolly. How?

Pilcher. My Christmas Blanket Club happened to be on the road to bankruptcy. By the way, our Blanket Club here is in low water. Well, I gave Jobling a small box with a hole at the top sufficiently large to admit half a crown. And I suggested that whenever he was betrayed into one of these little slips, he should fine himself for the benefit of my Blanket Club——

Harry. Good business! Dolly, where's that collecting-box they sent us from the Hospital for Incurables?

Dolly. In the cupboard in the next room.

Harry. Right-o! No time like the present! [Exit.]

Matt. And how did you get out of this dilemma?

Pilcher. Dilemma?

Matt. Did your Blanket Club remain in bankruptcy, or what must have been an even more distressing alternative to you, did Jobling continue to use bad language to his wife?

Pilcher. We struck a happy medium. My Blanket Club balance was considerably augmented, and Jobling's behaviour considerably improved under the stress of the fines.

Re-enter Harry with an old, dusty collecting-box on which is printed in large letters, "County Hospital for Incurables."

Harry. [Placing the box on the table.] There! My name's Jobling for the present! By Jove! that was a very neat idea of yours.

Pilcher. Ah, by the way, I didn't give you Jobling's tariff——

Harry. Tariff?

Pilcher. Jobling's tariff for a mild little profanity like "By Jove," was a mere sixpence.

Harry. Oh! [Feels in his pocket.

Pilcher. Of course you needn't adopt Jobling's scale.

Harry. Oh yes! I'll toe the mark! [Takes six pence out of his pocket and puts it in his box.] I'm determined I'll cure myself of all these bad little tricks——

Matt. [To Dolly, pointing to the money-box.] Are you going to contribute?

Dolly. [Snappishly.] Perhaps, when I've paid off my bills.

Matt. [To Pilcher.] Will you kindly let my daughter have your lowest tariff for ladies?

Dolly. Oh, please don't be in such a hurry. What about your own contribution? Mr. Pilcher, I hope you don't intend to let my father escape.

Pilcher. I understood Mr. Barron was prepared to risk a five-pound note that you and Mr. Telfer will not carry your New Year resolutions into practice?

Matt. With the almost certain chance of drawing a five-pound note from Harry and a new hat from Dolly.

Pilcher. I'm afraid I can't hold out those inducements. But I can offer you the very pleasing alternatives of chuckling over your daughter's and Mr. Telfer's lapses, or of contributing five pounds to an excellent charity!

Matt. H'm! Well I'll do my best to oblige you, Mr. Pilcher! Let me see!

[Looking round, his eye falls on Renie and Lucas who, at the beginning of the above conversation have gone into conservatory at lower door, and now come out again at upper door. She has a hot-house flower in her hand, and they are eagerly absorbed in their conversation. The Professor talking to Harry and not noticing.

Renie. [Becoming aware that Matt is watching them.] Yes, that arrangement of the stamens is quite unusual. It's what the gardener calls a "sport"——

Lucas. [Examining the flower.] Jolly good sport, too!

Matt. I'm not sure that we haven't even better sport here——

Renie. [Coming to him.] Sport? What sport? Can we join?

Matt. That's just what I was going to propose. There are four of you here, who heard Mr. Pilcher's excellent discourse last night. And you are all determined to turn over a new leaf this year. Isn't that so?

Dolly. Yes!

Harry. I know I am.

Matt. Mrs. Sturgess?

Renie. Yes, indeed!

Matt. Lucas, you?

Lucas. Yes, Uncle.

Matt. On the first of January next, I am prepared to put a sovereign in that money-box for every one of you who can honestly declare that he has broken himself or herself of his bad habits during the year.

Lucas. I say, not all our bad habits?

Matt. H'm. I don't wish to be exacting—I've no doubt each of you has his own little failing or weakness. Well, come to me and say on your honour that you've conquered this or that pet special weakness—and in goes my sovereign.

Lucas. You don't really mean it?

Matt. Indeed I do. I hope you won't stand out and—spoil sport, eh?

Lucas. Oh, I don't mind coming in—just for the lark of the thing.

Matt. Then you all agree?

Dolly. Oh yes.

Harry. Certainly.

Matt. Mrs. Sturgess?

Renie. We don't know where we may be next Christmas.

Dolly. You'll be here with us. I invite you on the spot. You accept?

Renie. Yes, delighted, if my husband——

Prof. Very pleased.

Matt. Well, Mr. Pilcher, I think I've made your Blanket Club a very handsome offer.

Pilcher. Very handsome. [Taking out watch.] I hope our friends will cordially respond, for the sake of my Blanket Club.

Dolly. You'll stay for a cup of tea?

Pilcher. I've heaps of New Year's calls to make. I'm afraid I must be going; good afternoon, Professor!

Prof. Good afternoon.

Pilcher. Good afternoon, Telfer.

Harry. Good afternoon.

Pilcher. Good-bye, Mrs. Sturgess.

Renie. Good-bye. So many thanks for your eloquent sermon.

[Shaking hands.

Pitcher. Now, was I eloquent? I suppose I was, since I've produced such an invigorating New Year atmosphere.

[Renie moves her French novel.

Matt. And brought Lucas over from Aldershot in the snow!

Lucas. Rather! I shall come again next year.

[Shaking hands.

Pilcher. Do. And then we shall be able to estimate the effect of my eloquence.

Matt. [Tapping the money-box.] We shall!

Pilcher. Good-bye, Mrs. Telfer.

Dolly. Good-bye. [Rings bell.

Pilcher. Good-bye, Mr. Barron.

Matt. Good-bye.

Pilcher. You might be inclined to risk a sovereign on yourself for the Blanket Club?

Matt. I daren't. I can't trust my gray matter—I should make a dreadful fiasco.

[Criddle appears at door.

Pilcher. Mrs. Telfer, I leave him in your hands.

[Exit Pilcher. Criddle closes the door after him.

Matt. Dolly, I don't mind having that new Parisian hat on with you.

Dolly. Done! I don't mind how much I punish you.

Prof. [Taking out his watch.] Half past three, my dear.

Renie. I don't think I'll go out this afternoon.

Prof. Oh, you'd better take your little constitutional. You missed it yesterday. I'm sure your restlessness is due to your not taking regular exercise.

Renie. Which way are you going? [Yawning.

Prof. My usual round, up to the White House and back by the fish-pond.

Renie. Perhaps I'll join you at the fish-pond.

Prof. [To Matt.] Nothing like living by rule and measure.

Matt. I shouldn't wonder. I've never tried it.

Prof. I ascribe my constant good health and contentment to my unvarying routine of work and diet and exercise. [Exit.

Matt. Then where do my constant good health and contentment come from?

Lucas. Dolly, I left my evening kit here. Could you put me up for the night?

Dolly. Delighted! You'll make up our rubber.

Lucas. Right!

Matt. Not going to ride back to Aldershot again to-night?

Lucas. Not to-night, thank you.

Matt. Just a shade too bracing, eh?

Lucas. Just a shade! Dolly, I haven't seen your new fish-pond. Is anybody going to meet the Professor?