Hobson's Choice: A Lancashire Comedy in Four Acts Part 3

TUBBY. They're Willie's making, those.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Then tell Willie I want him.

TUBBY. Certainly, ma'am. (_He goes down trap and calls_ "Willie!")

MRS. HEPWORTH. Who's Willie?

HOBSON. Name of Mossop, madam. But if there is anything wrong I a.s.sure you I'm capable of making the man suffer for it. I'll--

(WILLIE MOSSOP _comes up trap. He is a lanky fellow, about thirty, not naturally stupid but stunted mentally by a brutalized childhood. He is a raw material of a charming man, but, at present, it requires a very keen eye to detect his potentialities. His clothes are an even poorer edition of_ TUBBY'S. _He comes half-way up trap_.)

MRS. HEPWORTH (_standing_ R. _of trap_). Are you Mossop?

WILLIE. Yes, mum.

MRS. HEPWORTH. You made these boots?

WILLIE (_peering at them_). Yes, I made them last week.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Take that.

(WILLIE, _bending down, rather expects "that" to be a blow. Then he raises his head and finds she is holding out a visiting card. He takes it_.)

See what's on it?

WILLIE (_bending over the card_). Writing?

MRS. HEPWORTH. Read it.

WILLIE. I'm trying. (_His lips move as he tries to spell it out_.)

MRS. HEPWORTH. Bless the man. Can't you read?

WILLIE. I do a bit. Only it's such funny print.

MRS. HEPWORTH. It's the usual italics of a visiting card, my man. Now listen to me. I heard about this shop, and what I heard brought me here for these boots. I'm particular about what I put on my feet.

HOBSON (_moving slightly towards her_). I a.s.sure you it shall not occur again, Mrs. Hepworth.

MRS. HEPWORTH. What shan't?

HOBSON (_crestfallen_). I--I don't know.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Then hold your tongue. Mossop, I've tried every shop in Manchester, and these are the best-made pair of boots I've ever had.

Now, you'll make my boots in future. You hear that, Hobson?

(MAGGIE, _down_ L. C., _is taking it all in_.)

HOBSON. Yes, madam, of course he shall.

MRS. HEPWORTH. You'll keep that card, Mossop, and you won't dare leave here to go to another shop without letting me know where you are.

HOBSON. Oh, he won't make a change.

MRS. HEPWORTH. How do you know? The man's a treasure, and I expect you underpay him.

HOBSON. That'll do, Willie. You can go.

WILLIE. Yes, sir.

(_He dives down trap_. MAGGIE _closes it_.)

MRS. HEPWORTH. He's like a rabbit.

MAGGIE. Can I take your order for another pair of boots, Mrs. Hepworth?

MRS. HEPWORTH. Not yet, young woman. But I shall send my daughters here.

And, mind you, that man's to make the boots. (_She crosses_ L.)

MAGGIE. (_Up at doors and opening them_.) Certainly, Mrs. Hepworth.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Good morning.

HOBSON. Good morning, Mrs. Hepworth. Very glad to have the honour of serving you, madam. (_Following her up_.)

(_She goes out_.)

(_Angry_.) I wish some people would mind their own business. What does she want to praise a workman to his face for? (_Moves down_ L. _and then to_ C.)

MAGGIE. I suppose he deserved it.

HOBSON. Deserved be blowed! Making them uppish. That's what it is. Last time she puts her foot in my shop, I give you my word.

MAGGIE. Don't be silly, father.

HOBSON. I'll show her. Thinks she owns the earth because she lives at Hope Hall.

(_Enter from street_ JIM HEELER, _who is a grocer, and_ HOBSON'S _boon companion_.)

JIM (_looking down street as he enters_). That's a bit of a startler.

HOBSON (_swinging round_). Eh? Oh, morning, Jim.

JIM. You're doing a good cla.s.s trade if the carriage folk come to you, Hobson. (_Moves down_ L. C.)

HOBSON. What?

JIM. Wasn't that Mrs. Hepworth?