The Great Adventure Part 10

JANET. (Pleased.) Have you indeed?

CARVE. Yes. But an annuity isn't ready cash, is it?

JANET. (Picking up Shawn's pocket-book.) And this? This seems rather thick.

CARVE. I was forgetting that too. (Opens it and takes out many notes.)

JANET. My word! And you'd forgotten that! You ought to see a doctor.

CARVE. (Counting.) Twenty-one fives, and ten tens. That makes two hundred and five pounds. (Half to himself.) I always knew I was a bad lot--but where did I collar all that from? (To Janet.) I know what I shall do! I shall go to the Grand Babylon.

JANET. The Grand Babylon Hotel? But it's the dearest hotel in London.

CARVE. In the big towns we always went to the best hotel. It's cheapest in the end.

JANET. You're very persuasive, but you'll never make me believe you'll save money by staying at the Grand Babylon.

CARVE. (Rising and beginning to collect things--tries to fold up a pair of trousers.) Now, Mrs. Cannot, will you do me a favour?

JANET. You'll spoil these trousers.

CARVE. Will you come and lunch with me at the Grand Babylon to-morrow?

JANET. But I've never been in such a place in my life.

CARVE. Remember. You're my only friend. Will you come and lunch with me at the Grand Babylon to-morrow?

JANET. (Timidly.) I should like to. (Suddenly.) Here, give me those trousers, do! (She takes hold of one leg, CARVE retaining the other.)

(Enter CYRUS CARVE.)

CYRUS. Oh!

CURTAIN.

ACT II

SCENE I

Private sitting-room at the Grand Babylon Hotel, Strand. Luxurious in the hotel manner. Telephone. Door, L., leading to corridor. Door, R.

(up stage), leading to bedroom. Another door (not used) leading by a pa.s.sage to bathroom.

TIME.--About noon on the following day. ILAM CARVE and JANET are talking together.

CARVE. I'm really delighted to see you.

JANET. (Examining his features.) But surely you're not feeling very well?

CARVE. I'm not. Perhaps it's these sleepless nights I've had.

JANET. You're s.h.i.+vering.

CARVE. I was wearing my dressing-gown. I nearly always do when I'm alone. Do you think you'd mind if I put it on again.

JANET. Do you mean to say you took it off because of me? (Seizing dressing-gown firmly.) Mr. Shawn, will you oblige me by getting-into this at once? (She helps him on with dressing-gown.) What a beauty!

CARVE. Yes. Cousin Cyrus thought so too. He didn't want me to bring it away. Still, I beat him on that point. (JANET arranges the collar.) Do you know, you do me good.

JANET. I should think so. I suppose when gentlemen live alone they're pretty nearly always unwell, as it were. If it isn't a cold, it's stomach, I expect. And truly, I'm not surprised, the way they go on!

Now, will you sit down in that chair and keep your legs covered--August or no August! If you ask me, it's influenza you're sickening for.

(Sound of distant orchestral.) Music?

CARVE. (Nodding and sitting down in easy chair.) Well, and what's the news from outside? I haven't stirred since yesterday noon.

JANET. Seems to me there's no news except your Mr. Carve's death.

CARVE. Really! Is it so much talked about as all that?

JANET. It's on all the posters--very big. All along Piccadilly and Trafalgar Square and the Strand the newspaper boys, and the newspaper old men too, are wearing it like ap.r.o.ns, as it were. I read the Telegraph myself. There was nearly a page of it in the Telegraph.

CARVE. (Staggered.) Nearly a page of it in the Telegraph!

JANET. Yes, besides a leading article. Haven't you----

CARVE. I never read obituaries of artists in the papers.

JANET. Neither do I. But I should have thought you would.

CARVE. Well, they make me angry. Obituaries of archbishops aren't so bad. Newspapers seem to understand archbishops. But when they begin about artists--you cannot imagine the astounding nonsense they talk.

JANET. (Protesting against his heat.) Now! You're still all on wires.

Why should that make you angry?

CARVE. What did the Telegraph say? Did you look at it?

JANET. Oh yes. It appears Mr. Carve was a very eccentric person--avoiding society and so on.

CARVE. (Resentful.) Eccentric! There you are! He wasn't eccentric in the least. The only society he avoided was the society of gaping fools.

JANET. Well, I'm just telling you what it said. Then, let me see--what else did it say? Oh! It said the sole question was whether Mr. Carve was the greatest painter since Velasquez--is that how you p.r.o.nounce it?--or whether he was the greatest painter that ever lived.

CARVE. (Interested.) Really! It said that?

JANET. (Nodding.) You ought to read it.