Jerome K. Jerome

“ Thee might have had all the money thee wanted, lass, wi’out deceiving me.
CLARA. (Falling on her knees before him.) Forgive me, Allen, you don’t know what my life has been. Dragged up among thieves and sharpers, taught to trick and lie before I could speak plainly, I have never know what truth and honor meant except as a dim longing. All the humanity—all the womanhood—has been dried out of me till I am only the thing you see me—a vulture—a human beast of prey. Ah, Allen, thank God for your sake that I am married and that you have escaped me—forget me—it is the only thing you can do. ”

“ CLARA. Hadn’t you better make sure, Allen? (Laughing.) What do you know of my past—of even my present—of whence I came—what I am? (Laughs.) Suppose, Allen, suppose I were only an adventuress. (Takes a step.) A woman with the blood of sharpers and thieves in her veins—whose nursery was the gambling house—whose school was the Café and the Boulevards—a woman who earned her daily bread by shamelessness and cunning—a woman whose past would ever follow like a shadow the footsteps of her life—whose future must ever be a darker shadow still. Ah, Allen, take care. Cupid ties a bandage over men’s eyes. ”

“ ALLEN. Can’t thee believe me, Clara? Trust me, lass—I’m only a rough country chap to be asking a beautiful lady like thee to be my wife. But if I can’t gie thee anything very showy on the outside, it will make me the more eager alius to keep a loving heart for thee within.
CLARA. Oh, no. (Sits in chair l. of table.) A lover on his knees is so much nicer than a lover on your arm. You are so nice, Allen, as you are, you can’t think. ”

“ CLARA. (Takes’ Allen’s hand, left.) You are the only man that has been good to me, and I have brought you only pain and shame.
ALLEN. (Raising her.) Ah, never mind that, lass. Thee didn’t mean to do it. Come! I be more sorry for thee than for myself. I could see what sort of life thee had got around thee, and I wanted to take thee away from it all. I can do so little for thee now. (Both at cabinet, Allen r.)
CLARA. You have taught me, Allen, that there are good men in the world; forgive me for having taught you that there are bad women. (Clara crosses in front of Allen to r.door.) ”

“ No, lass, I can’t do that. I shall alius think kindly of thee. I’ve loved thee too well to change now—because I knows thy lot’s harder than I thought it wur.
CLARA. (Turns and looks at Allen.) Try not to think of me at all, Allen—I am not worth it—forget me. There is one who loves you better than I could ever do, and who is good and pure. (Rises.) You men never see the love that is under your feet—you reach only for what is beyond you. Go back to her, Allen. She will make you a better wife than I could ever have done. (Allen at back of Clara up stage R.)
ALLEN. (After a pause.) ”

“ It’s a lie. Don’t believe her. She ain’t. She ain’t. (Goes c. Clara to l.) It’s only a trick to try your love. Ah, you hussy! It’s all been planned. This is all part of it. She ain’t married. We planned it to test your love for her. Ah, you beast! I’ll strangle you. I’ll murder you. She’s only trying it on to see what you say. It’s a trick. Don’t believe her. Don’t believe her.
CLARA. And have been for the last three years.
DEX. (As before.) No, she ain’t been, Mr. Rollitt. It’s a lie—it’s a lie. It’s a lie. She says it to spite her old father. Ah you devil, you—
ALLEN. Silence! ”

“ I should ha’ thought there wur enough fools among us men trying to win money that way.
CLARA. I am naughty, I know—but papa leaves everything to me, and I get so frightened when I see the debts mounting up and nothing to meet them, and I’ve no one to advise me. (Crosses l.)
ALLEN. (After a pause, rises, goes to Clara—kindly.) I didn’t mean to speak unkind, lass. I’m full of old-fashioned notions about women, I suppose. I like ’em to be women—not mere men in petticoats. How much does thee owe?
CLARA. Oh, heaps! (Handing him pocket-book.) Look. (Allen crosses to R. and sits at table.) ”

“ ALLEN. (Crosses up c.) Shall be in a minute, Colonel, if you will excuse me. (Draws the two men together near fireplace, Allen nearest, Purt. next, Hann. r.) Can thee play billiards?
HANN. I can, but I don’t crave for them at this particular moment.
ALLEN. You’ll just have time to play fifty up afore the man as I takes to be Dan Cassidy is here.
PURT. How will you let us know?
ALLEN. (Looks round thinking, then catches sight of glasses on table l.; takes one up and holds it over hearth.) Keep thee, ears open, and when thee hears this glass fall and break, open the door and come in. ”

“ I have learnt enough within the last few minutes to believe that you are the man you say you are, and if so, take it all. You offered me £100,000 to give thee Dan Cassidy, I offer thee £200,000 to let him go his way in peace. (Pause.) Come, you may find it hard to prove thee art Hanningford afore the law. Prove it to me and Mr. Purtwee, and give me thy hand on it that thee’ll never seek to find Dan Cassidy or harm him, and thee art old Hanningford’s heir, and I, Allen Rollitt, farmer and yeoman. ”

“ What be the use of being a lawyer and knowing things if ’ee never tells a body a bit o’ news? And now I come to think of it, I’ve got a bone to pick wi’ thee about that very thing. Thee never told me old Hanningford wur agoing to die without leaving my boy so much as a brass farthing. Do you think as how I’d ’a’ gone on sending the old skinflint the best turkey in the yard every Christmas, and the best goose come every Michaelmas, if I’d known as how he’d hadn’t given us so much as the price as a suit o’ black, and Allen his own cousin’s child. ”

“ We Devonshire lads win fortunes, not lose ‘em. (Crossing c.)
MRS. R. Ah, no, lad. But thee knows the saying “Roses blossom for a day, But stout old ivy’s green al-way.” Thee ain’t likely to lose the money, if thee can help it, lad, but us all be in God’s hands, and I’ll be easier in my mind if the farm’s there for thee to come home to. If anything happens, thee knows the way across the Moor, and thee knows how the latch goes, and me and the lass will be inside to welcome thee.
ALLEN. (Goes l. takes Deb.‘s hand.) Ah, I know you will, mother, both of you. ”

“ It would be a change for thee, Clara— (leans on table at back of Clara, puts hand on Clara’s chair) —from a rough and troubled road to one where every stone wur smoothed away from your path—-where every thorn wur held back as you passed—where, instead of care for the day and dread for the morrow, thee would feel that a strong arm wur round thee—that a loving hand wur working out thy life for thee. Cannot thee risk the change, Clara?
CLARA. (Rises, Allen takes her right hand, turns away R.) Ah, I suppose there are such lives for some women. It must be very good when you are tired. ”

“ Mrs. Rollitt at table r.c. discovered ironing. She folds up clothes as she finishes with them, and crosses and places them one by one in press l.
MRS. R. Rachael! Rachael!! (Crossing l. then crosses to r. at back of table r.c.) Ah, drat the girls—alius philandering about with the boys when they’re wanted. Rachael!
(Enter Rachael, she comes slowly forward to l.c.)
RACH. Did you call, ma’am?
MRS. R. (At table.) Did I call? Why thee be getting deaf in thee old age sure, Rachael.
RACH. I was in the dairy, ma’am.
MRS. R. In the dairy! Well, and the dairy bean’t a mile off, be it? ”

“ DEB. (Goes to fireplace R.) Oh, aunt, how naughty you are, always talking of being “gone,” just as if you were an old woman.
MRS. R. No, no, lass, I bean’t talking of being gone now. I’ve many a year before me yet, please God. But it must come sometime, thee knaws, and I like to think that when it do there’ll be someone to gie the lad his bit of food, and look arter un loike—and, Lord, a man do want a power of looking arter to be sure.
DEB. (At fire R. making it up.) I think that’s why we love ‘em, aunt, because they’re so helpless. ”

“ Did thee quarrel.
ALLEN. Us never got a chance. There wur a cousin or summat of the kind hanging about all the time—just come over with some chap from America. Can’t say as I like un much.
DEB. Thee’d best summon up thy courage and speak quick or thee may lose thy turn. (Allen turns away L.) Go and tell aunt supper’s ready—be quick, it’s all spoiling.
ALLEN. (Moving quickly towards door l. down stage.) Where shall I find her?
DEB. (Sharply.) How should I know?
ALLEN. (Looks around surprised—sotto voce.) How the fire do draw out a woman’s temper, to be sure. ”

“ The young uns be all alike. They run arter shadows like the chickens do arter chaff. (Cross l.) Why, I mind when I wur a lass, I used to look in the glass and think I’d be a duchess. But the dook didn’t come, so I just married thee uncle. The young ducks all fancies as they’ll paddle off to the sea, But they live and dies in the old pond arter all. (Crosses to R.)
DEB. (Laughing.) And you think that your duck will live and die in the Woodbarrow pond, aunt? (Helps Mrs. Rollitt to fold.)
MRS. R. Ah, bless un, yes, the lads they fancy that any place is better than the old home ”

“ Oh, it’s only aunt’s fun. (Goes to Allen, l. c.) I’m not going to get married. Sure the pigs and cows are worrit enough wi’ their foolish ways. I don’t want any husband.
ALLEN. Ah, thee will some day, o’ course, and when thee does we must make thee comfortable, lass. (Taking her hand.) Thee shalt ha’ the best farm in all the country, and the best dairy, and the best stock.
DEB. (Little c.) Thank thee, Allen dear. (Turns up stage.)
MRS. R. (Rising; music dies away.) Well, lass, I suppose us had better have a clean down and summat to eat, and then see about our bit o’ shopping. ”

“ Enter Allen r. creeping in cautiously in a mysterious and watchful manner. He has a huge pewter pot in one hand and a large church-warden clay pipe alight in the other. He looks round stealthily, listens, then crosses nervously and sits l. in easy chair. He stretches himself out as luxuriously as his tight clothes will allow—especially the collar. Takes a long pull at the pot and long puffs at the pipe. ”

“ ALLEN. What, the bantam?
DEB. Yes. He’s given his own father such a licking, and won’t let him come near the yard.
ALLEN. (Laughing heartily.) Plucky little beggar! Serve the old ‘un right. He wur always a bully. Now, mother— (about to hand her the pie.) Why, mother, thee art crying!
MRS. R. (Crying.) No, I ain’t. Go on with thee supper, lad.
ALLEN. (Looking at Deb.) And—why, here be Deb. crying too!
(The two women laugh through their tears. Allen joins them as curtain descends.)
MRS. R. It’s wi’ joy, lad; it’s wi’ joy! ”

“ Not more than what a many has. Not more than a little bit of what this young Hanning-ford is coming back to—enough to let a man see what the world’s like a bit, instead of being cooped oop all one’s life, like an old cow, in one corner of it.
DEB. But you can’t live all over it, and one corner must be much as good as another.
ALLEN. (Crosses r.) Ah, thee don’t understand it, lass. Thee women folk can stand day arter day the same, but we lads are restless wi’ it. We feel as there’s summat big and stirring going on somewhere, and we long to be among it—to be in the great world. ”

“ It would take a power of sweetness to go round her. (Crosses L. with linen.) .
DEB. She’s big, but then men like big women, don’t they, aunt?
MRS. R. (l.) Ah, some on ’em goes in for quantity, and some on ’em goes in for quality. The little ones, they go in for size cause they bean’t much of it themselves; and the big ones goes in for sense, cause that be what they be most in need of. (Goes R.) And Allen, he be’s medium, so he can just please himself.
DEB. And there’s Miss Dexter, that he drives over to Minehead so often. (Mrs. Rollitt goes l.) He thinks a lot of her, I know. ”

“ Ah, I’d gie a trifle to be going to spend this evening at the Dunkery Arms a-halping to sing a chorus with old Joe Steddles and young Jem Whalley and Jack Clouter. Ah, he’d got a fine voice, had old Jack Clouter. Never heard a man sing so loud in all my life. ”

“ Well, lad, and how dost thee like being a gentleman? (Sits r., Deb. sits l.)
ALLEN. (c. doubtfully.) Well, it’s got its drawbacks, mother. There’s more work about it than you’d think for, you know,—but I think I shall be all right, I’ve got a good man learning me. He wur teaching me to walk this morning. That wus the Park stroll I wur practicing when you come in; see, mother? (Imitates stroll.)
MRS. R. Ah, well, us made a good man of ’ee down in Devon. I hopes they don’t spoil ’ee, lad, in turning thee into a gentleman.
ALLEN. Ah, no, mother. It’s only a polishing up the outside. ”

“ It’s really a very Quixotic thing to do. Why shouldn’t the man suffer for his crime?
ALLEN. (l.) Because he can’t suffer without bringing suffering to them as I’d rather spare—because he’s the husband of the woman I have been calling Clara Dexter.
PURT. (Astonished.) You don’t say that, lad! When did you learn it?
ALLEN. About five minutes ago. (Crosses to r.; leans on chair.)
PURT. (After a pause.) Hanningford said true; it’s been a rough morning for you. (Going up to Allen and laying his hand on his shoulder.) Would you rather that I stopped with you a bit, lad, or left you alone? ”

“ ALLEN. Oh!
BARON. Ja. Now, dere is my niece, look at her family! Look at her ancestors—all barons—German barons! And she is such a nice girl—so beaudiful—so plump—ach, I will indroduce her to you. She vill mash you—so much. She—
(Enter Mrs. R., Deb. behind her, lower l. door. Seeing the room full she stands by door hesitatingly.)
GUSS. (Coming down and interrupting, with a sneering laugh.) Your nurse, Rollitt, I think. (Comes c. Luke goes to fireplace R.)
ALLEN. (Turns and sees them, and then goes towards them.) Yes, Mr. Gussett—the best nurse a man can have—my mother. ”

“ DEB. Oh, no, I won’t tax your kindness. I know you men hate shopping, and we are going into drapers’ and dressmakers’ and all sorts of dreadful places, (c.)
GUSS. Ah, they will not be dreadful if you are there, Miss Deacon.
DEB. And aunt always takes such a long time shopping. (Goes up c.) Never can make up her mind, and I’m worse still, and— (makes movement, Guss. moves behind settle and stops her down l.) ”