Mazo de la Roche

“ Benn.—About our Gladys.
Linton (mildly) .—I did what I could.
Benn.—And you should have 'eard 'im, Lizzie, when I was a tying of Gladyses 'air ribbon. 'E'd just stepped in for 'is overcoat. "Now," 'e says, "mind your manners, you young limb. None o' your coarse Canadian w'ys of speakin'. S'y—"Yes, teacher," prettily, not "yeh" or "huh-huh". And "teacher," mind, with the last syllable nicely clipped, not "teachur," or you'll never grow up to marry a gentleman. . . . Lizzie, we've got to think of Gladys' future, 'ave'n't we? A refined influence at work, says teacher. ”

“ Linton (leaning forward) .—Just how was that, Mrs. Benn? I don't seem to grasp your meaning.
Mrs. Benn.—Lord! The man's no more fit to look after 'isself than a biby. (She proceeds with exasperation.) You see them newspipers don't yer?
Linton.—Yes, Mrs. Benn.
Mrs. Benn.—Very well. L'y them down first. Then the quilt folded so, then yourself in between.
Linton (anxiously) .—You mean I'm to get in between the newspapers and the quilt.
Mrs. Benn.—No, no, no. Now look. (Linton drops to his knees on the floor beside the quilt.) You are to get in between the two layers of quilt. ”

“ Benn (humorously) .—Well, you can thank God I did.
Linton (stretching) .—Ho, hum! a long day.
Benn.—Did you ever see the like for the time of year? I've been in this country twenty years and I've never seen such a Spring. The climate's gettin' worse all the time. July, August, and Winter. Them's our seasons. These 'ere immigrants from the 'Ebrides, I wonder wot they'll think of it. They'll find this's a worse place than the one they come from. Might as well be back in the 'Ebrides, I'd s'y. Wot I want to know is, w'y does the Government bring 'em out? ”

“ Linton.—I'm glad she's going to do that. She doesn't half take care of herself. It would be a very bad thing if she got down sick.
Benn.—Pretty bad for us, eh?
(They look at each other and laugh rather shamefacedly.)
Linton (attacking the last sausage) .—She's a fine woman—I say it—even if she was a bit rough on me last night. She's a wonderful woman.
Benn.—She's a great worker. W'y, when that last biby come, 'ow long do you suppose she laid off? One week. ”

“ There's brawn in that flat package, and there's a lettuce and some Chelsea buns.
(She goes into the other room. A door slams below. Benn goes to the window and looks down into the street. He gives his head a doleful shake and then returns to the table and begins to untie the packages. He abstracts a slice of brawn from one, two biscuits from another, and breaks of a piece of cheese. These he drops into the pocket of his coat.)
Mrs. Benn (re-appearing) .—Well, you are slow. 'Ere, let me. (She espies the teapot standing on the tea-kettle) . ”

“ Benn (musingly) .—It's a good nime, too, Linton. None of your little, cheap nimes—
Mrs. Benn (scornfully) .—Like Benn.
Benn.—Yes, like Benn. I knew as soon as I met 'im that first day last September—we was both applying for the sime job, I mind—I knew 'e was a gentleman. Or somewhere near it.
Mrs. Benn (seating herself at the table) .—Well, 'e'll not spunge on me no more. Not if I know it. It's bad enough to 'ave one man to keep, and 'im fit for nothink much but to be a father.
Benn (reproachfully) .—Lizzie, we've only two kids. ”

“ W'y talk about dignity, he even lends dignity to this little 'ome of ours. When he tikes Gladys for a walk, there's an eye at every window, and all the mothers on the street are envious to see our child led along by a gentleman like 'im. I expect they think he is her tooter.
Mrs. Benn.—Ha!
(Linton rises to his knees. He and she face each other, eye to eye in silence for a space.)
Benn.—And not only that, Lizzie. When teacher come for Gladys to-day, she says to me, says she—"Mr. Benn, wotever has come over Gladys? She's so much more refined than she was. ”

“ Linton sadly shakes his head but mechanically drops the orange into his pocket. He also deprecatingly accepts the slice of brawn, the biscuits and bit of cheese which Benn stole from Mrs. Benn's packages, and puts them in his other pocket. He then sits down, and buries his face in his hands. Mrs. Benn returns, carrying an old quilt and some newspapers.)
Mrs. Benn (with a kind of savage cheerfulness) .—'Ere we are! 'Ere's the very thing. Now look. You must spread a layer of these newspapers down first. There's nothink better to keep the cold and damp out. ”

“ The prize winner . . . . . is easily the best one act play that has come out of a Canadian contest. . . . It is "Low Life" by Mazo de la Roche of Toronto . . . "Low Life" in its quiet unobtrusive way stands out as the first worthwhile play that has won the prize in a Canadian contest. ”

“ Benn.—Lizzie, Lizzie, don't tike on so. 'E just stepped in for a minute to get 'is 'andkercher. 'E'd forgot it last night when you sent 'im off. 'E didn't stay but a minute. While I 'unted up the 'andkercher—I'd used it to wipe off the stove by mistake—'e stood there by the window and wrote 'is nime on the pine—just for somethink to do like.
Mrs. Benn (snorting) .—That's about all the effort 'e's got the ambition for—to write 'is nime. I like 'is cheek. On my winder, too. (She savagely wipes the pane clean with a corner of her apron and straightens the curtain.) ”