Complete Plays of John Galsworthy - LightNovelsOnl.com
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WELLWYN. [At his picture.] I seemed to have noticed something.
ANN. [Preparing for tea.] They were kissing.
WELLWYN. Tt! Tt!
ANN. They're hopeless, all three--especially her. Wish I hadn't given her my clothes now.
WELLWYN. [Absorbed.] Something of wild-savage.
ANN. Thank goodness it's the Vicar's business to see that married people live together in his parish.
WELLWYN. Oh! [Dubiously.] The Megans are Roman Catholic-Atheists, Ann.
ANN. [With heat.] Then they're all the more bound. [WELLWYN gives a sudden and alarmed whistle.]
ANN. What's the matter?
WELLWYN. Didn't you say you spoke to Sir Thomas, too. Suppose he comes in while the Professor's here. They're cat and dog.
ANN. [Blankly.] Oh! [As WELLWYN strikes a match.] The samovar is lighted. [Taking up the nearly empty decanter of rum and going to the cupboard.] It's all right. He won't.
WELLWYN. We'll hope not.
[He turns back to his picture.]
ANN. [At the cupboard.] Daddy!
WELLWYN. Hi!
ANN. There were three bottles.
WELLWYN. Oh!
ANN. Well! Now there aren't any.
WELLWYN. [Abstracted.] That'll be Timson.
ANN. [With real horror.] But it's awful!
WELLWYN. It is, my dear.
ANN. In seven days. To say nothing of the stealing.
WELLWYN. [Vexed.] I blame myself-very much. Ought to have kept it locked up.
ANN. You ought to keep him locked up!
[There is heard a mild but authoritative knock.]
WELLWYN. Here's the Vicar!
ANN. What are you going to do about the rum?
WELLWYN. [Opening the door to CANON BERTLEY.] Come in, Vicar!
Happy New Year!
BERTLEY. Same to you! Ah! Ann! I've got into touch with her young husband--he's coming round.
ANN. [Still a little out of her plate.] Thank Go---Moses!
BERTLEY. [Faintly surprised.] From what I hear he's not really a bad youth. Afraid he bets on horses. The great thing, WELLWYN, with those poor fellows is to put your finger on the weak spot.
ANN. [To herself-gloomily.] That's not difficult. What would you do, Canon Bertley, with a man who's been drinking father's rum?
BERTLEY. Remove the temptation, of course.
WELLWYN. He's done that.
BERTLEY. Ah! Then--[WELLWYN and ANN hang on his words] then I should--er--
ANN. [Abruptly.] Remove him.
BERTLEY. Before I say that, Ann, I must certainly see the individual.
WELLWYN. [Pointing to the window.] There he is!
[In the failing light TIMSON'S face is indeed to be seen pressed against the window pane.]
ANN. Daddy, I do wish you'd have thick gla.s.s put in. It's so disgusting to be spied at! [WELLWYN going quickly to the door, has opened it.] What do you want? [TIMSON enters with dignity. He is fuddled.]
TIMSON. [Slowly.] Arskin' yer pardon-thought it me duty to come back-found thish yer little brishel on me. [He produces the little paint brush.]
ANN. [In a deadly voice.] Nothing else?
[TIMSON accords her a gla.s.sy stare.]
WELLWYN. [Taking the brush hastily.] That'll do, Timson, thanks!
TIMSON. As I am 'ere, can I do anything for yer?
ANN. Yes, you can sweep out that little room. [She points to the model's room.] There's a broom in there.
TIMSON. [Disagreeably surprised.] Certainly; never make bones about a little extra--never 'ave in all me life. Do it at onsh, I will. [He moves across to the model's room at that peculiar broad gait so perfectly adjusted to his habits.] You quite understand me --couldn't bear to 'ave anything on me that wasn't mine.
[He pa.s.ses out.]
ANN. Old fraud!
