Plays By John Galsworthy - LightNovelsOnl.com
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[While Ann sits down to make tea, he goes to the door and opens it. There, dressed in an ulster, stands a thin, clean-shaved man, with a little hollow sucked into either cheek, who, taking off a grey squash hat, discloses a majestically bald forehead, which completely dominates all that comes below it.]
WELLWYN. Come in, Professor! So awfully good of you! You know Canon Bentley, I think?
CALWAY. Ah! How d'you do?
WELLWYN. Your opinion will be invaluable, Professor.
ANN. Tea, Professor Calway?
[They have a.s.sembled round the tea table.]
CALWAY. Thank you; no tea; milk.
WELLWYN. Rum?
[He pours rum into CALWAY's milk.]
CALWAY. A little-thanks! [Turning to ANN.] You were going to show me some one you're trying to rescue, or something, I think.
ANN. Oh! Yes. He'll be here directly--simply perfect rotter.
CALWAY. [Smiling.] Really! Ah! I think you said he was a congenital?
WELLWYN. [With great interest.] What!
ANN. [Low.] Daddy! [To CALWAY.] Yes; I--I think that's what you call him.
CALWAY. Not old?
ANN. No; and quite healthy--a vagabond.
CALWAY. [Sipping.] I see! Yes. Is it, do you think chronic unemployment with a vagrant tendency? Or would it be nearer the mark to say: Vagrancy----
WELLWYN. Pure! Oh! pure! Professor. Awfully human.
CALWAY. [With a smile of knowledge.] Quite! And--er----
ANN. [Breaking in.] Before he comes, there's another----
BERTLEY. [Blandly.] Yes, when you came in, we were discussing what should be done with a man who drinks rum--[CALWAY pauses in the act of drinking]--that doesn't belong to him.
CALWAY. Really! Dipsomaniac?
BERTLEY. Well--perhaps you could tell us--drink certainly changing thine to mine. The Professor could see him, WELLWYN?
ANN. [Rising.] Yes, do come and look at him, Professor CALWAY.
He's in there.
[She points towards the model's room. CALWAY smiles deprecatingly.]
ANN. No, really; we needn't open the door. You can see him through the gla.s.s. He's more than half----
CALWAY. Well, I hardly----
ANN. Oh! Do! Come on, Professor CALWAY! We must know what to do with him. [CALWAY rises.] You can stand on a chair. It's all science.
[She draws CALWAY to the model's room, which is lighted by a gla.s.s panel in the top of the high door. CANON BERTLEY also rises and stands watching. WELLWYN hovers, torn between respect for science and dislike of espionage.]
ANN. [Drawing up a chair.] Come on!
CALWAY. Do you seriously wish me to?
ANN. Rather! It's quite safe; he can't see you.
CALWAY. But he might come out.
[ANN puts her back against the door. CALWAY mounts the chair dubiously, and raises his head cautiously, bending it more and more downwards.]
ANN. Well?
CALWAY. He appears to be---sitting on the floor.
WELLWYN. Yes, that's all right!
[BERTLEY covers his lips.]
CALWAY. [To ANN--descending.] By the look of his face, as far as one can see it, I should say there was a leaning towards mania. I know the treatment.
[There come three loud knocks on the door. WELLWYN and ANN exchange a glance of consternation.]
ANN. Who's that?
WELLWYN. It sounds like Sir Thomas.
CALWAY. Sir Thomas Hoxton?
WELLWYN. [Nodding.] Awfully sorry, Professor. You see, we----
CALWAY. Not at all. Only, I must decline to be involved in argument with him, please.
BERTLEY. He has experience. We might get his opinion, don't you think?
CALWAY. On a point of reform? A J.P.!
BERTLEY. [Deprecating.] My dear Sir--we needn't take it.
[The three knocks resound with extraordinary fury.]
