Book: ject Gutenberg EBook of The Title, by Arnold Bennett
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Arnold Bennett >> ject Gutenberg EBook of The Title, by Arnold Bennett
CULVER (_as he puts the letter in the envelope; with an air of
discovery_). I suppose I _do_ like being called 'Sir Arthur.'
_Enter_ Hildegard _and_ John _both disgusted, back_.
JOHN (_to_ Hildegarde, _as they come in_). I told you last night he
couldn't control even the mater. However, I'll be even with her yet.
CULVER. What do you mean, boy?
JOHN. I mean I'll be even with the mater yet. You'll see.
HILDEGARDE. Papa, you've behaved basely. Basely! What an example to us!
I intend to leave this house and live alone.
CULVER. You ought to marry Mr. Sampson Straight. (Hildegarde _starts and
is silent_.)
JOHN. Fancy me having to go back to school the son of a rotten baronet,
and with the frightful doom of being a rotten baronet myself. What price
the anti-hereditary-principle candidate! Dad, I hope you won't die just
yet--it would ruin my political career. Stay me with flagons!
CULVER. Me too!
CURTAIN.
ACT III
ACT III
_The next day, before lunch_. Hildegarde _and_ John _are together_.
JOHN (_nervously impatient_). I wish she'd come.
HILDEGARDE. She'll be here in a moment. She's fussing round dad.
JOHN. Is he really ill?
HILDEGARDE. Well of course. It came on in the night, after he'd had time
to think things over. Why?
JOHN. I read in some paper about the Prime Minister having only a
_political_ chill. So I thought perhaps the pater--under the circs--
HILDEGARDE (_shaking her head_). You can't have political dyspepsia.
Can't fake the symptoms. Who is to begin this affair, you or me?
JOHN. Depends. What line are you going on with her?
HILDEGARDE. I'm going to treat her exactly as she treats me. I've just
thought of it. Only I shan't lose my temper.
JOHN. Sugarsticks?
HILDEGARDE. Yes.
JOHN. You'll never be able to keep it up.
HILDEGARDE. O yes I shall. Somehow I feel much more mature than I did
yesterday.
JOHN. More mature? Stay me with flagons! I was always mature. If you
knew what rot I think school is...! Well, anyway, you can begin.
HILDEGARDE. You're very polite to-day, Johnnie.
JOHN. Don't mention it. My argument 'll be the best, and I want to keep
it for the end, that's all.
HILDEGARDE. Thanks. But I bet you we shall both fail.
JOHN. Well, if we do, I've still got something else waiting for her
ladyship. A regular startler, my child.
HILDEGARDE. What is it?
_Enter_ Mrs. Culver, _back_.
JOHN (_to_ Hildegarde, _as_ Mrs. Culver _enters_). Wait and see.
MRS. CULVER (_cheerful and affectionate, to_ John). So you've come in.
(_To_ Hildegarde.) You _are_ back early to-day! Well, my darlings, what
do you want me for?
HILDEGARDE (_imitating her mothers manner_). Well, mamma darling, we
hate bothering you. We know you've got quite enough worries, without
having any more. But it's about this baronetcy business. (Mrs. Culver
_starts_.) Do be an angel and listen to us.
MRS. CULVER (_with admirable self-control_). Of course, my pet. But you
know the matter is quite, quite settled. Your father and I settled it
together last night, and the letter of acceptance is in the hands of the
Government by this time.
JOHN. It isn't, mater. It's here. (_Pulls the letter out of his
pocket_.)
MRS. CULVER. John! What--
JOHN. Now, now, mater! Keep calm. This is really your own doing. Pater
wanted to go to the post himself, but it was raining a bit, and you're
always in such a fidget about his getting his feet wet you wouldn't let
him go, and so I went instead.
HILDEGARDE. Yes, mummy darling, you must acknowledge that you were
putting temptation in Johnnie's way.
JOHN. Soon as I got outside, I said to myself: 'I think the pater ought
to have a night to think over this affair. It's very important. And he
can easily send round an answer by hand in the morning.' So I didn't
post the letter. I should have told you earlier, but you weren't down
for breakfast, and I had to go out afterwards on urgent private
business.
MRS. CULVER. But--but--(_Controlling herself, grieved, but kind_.) Your
father will be terribly angry. I daren't face him.
JOHN (_only half-suppressing his amusement at the last remark_). Don't
let that worry you. I'll face him. He'll be delighted. He'll write
another letter, and quite a different one.
MRS. CULVER (_getting firmer_). But don't I tell you, my dearest boy,
that the affair is settled, quite settled?
JOHN. It isn't settled so long as I've got this letter, anyway.
HILDEGARDE. Of course it isn't settled. Mother darling, we simply must
look the facts in the face. Fact one, the letter is here. Fact two, the
whole family is most frightfully upset. Dad's ill--
MRS. CULVER. That was the lobster.
JOHN. It wasn't.
MRS. CULVER. Yes, dear. Lobster always upsets him.
JOHN. It didn't this time.
MRS. CULVER. How do you know?
JOHN. I know, because _I_ ate all his lobster. He shoved it over to me.
You couldn't see for the fruit-bowl.
HILDEGARDE. No, mamma sweetest. It's this baronetcy business that's
knocked poor papa over. And it's knocked over Johnnie and me too. I'm
perfectly, perfectly sure you acted for the best, but don't you think
you persuaded father against his judgment? Not to speak of our judgment!
MRS. CULVER. I've only one thought--
HILDEGARDE (_caressing and kissing
her mother_). I know! I know! Father's happiness. Our happiness. Mamma,
please don't imagine for a single instant that we don't realise that.
You're the most delicious darling of an old mater--
MRS. CULVER (_slightly suspicious_). Hildegarde, you're quite a
different girl to-day.
HILDEGARDE (_nods_). I've aged in a single night. I've become ever so
serious. This baronetcy business has shown me that I've got
convictions--and deep convictions. I admit I'm a different girl to-day.
But then everything's different to-day. The whole house is different.
Johnnie's different. Papa's missed going to the office for the first
time in eight months. (_Very sweetly_.) Surely you must see, mamma, that
something ought to be done, and that you alone can do it.
MRS. CULVER. What? What ought I to do?
HILDEGARDE. Go upstairs and tell dad you've changed your mind about the
title, and advise him to write off instantly and refuse it. You know you
always twist him round your little finger.
MRS. CULVER (_looking at her little finger_). I shouldn't dream of
trying to influence your father once he had decided. And he _has_
decided.
HILDEGARDE (_sweetly_). Mamma, you're most tremendously clever--far
cleverer than any of us--but I'm not sure if you understand the attitude
of the modern girl towards things that affect her convictions.
MRS. CULVER (_sweetly_). Are you the modern girl.
HILDEGARDE. Yes.
MRS. CULVER. Well, I'm the ancient girl. And I can tell you this--you're
very like me, and we're both very like somebody else.
HILDEGARDE. Who's that.
MRS. CULVER. Eve.
JOHN. Come, mater. Eve would never have learnt typewriting. She'd have
gone on the land.
MRS. CULVER. John, your sister and I are not jesting.
HILDEGARDE. I'm so glad you admit I'm serious, mamma. Because I
am--very. I don't want to threaten--
MRS. CULVER. Threaten, darling?
HILDEGARDE (_firmly, but quite lightly and sweetly_). No, darling.
_Not_ to threaten. The mere idea of threatening is absurd. But it would
be extremely unfair to you not to tell you that unless you agree to
father refusing the title, I shall have to leave the house and live by
myself. I really shall. Of course I can easily earn my own living. I
quite see that you have principles. But I also have principles. If they
clash--naturally it's my place to retire. And I shall, mamma dearest.
MRS. CULVER. Is that final?
HILDEGARDE. Final, mummy darling.
MRS. CULVER. Then, my dearest child, you must go.
HILDEGARDE (_still sweetly_). Is that final?
MRS. CULVER (_still sweetly_). Final, my poor pet.
JOHN (_firmly_). Now let _me_ say a word.
MRS. CULVER (_benignly_). And what have you got to say in the matter?
You've already been very naughty about that letter. Do try not to be
ridiculous. Give me the letter. This affair has nothing to do with you.
JOHN (_putting the letter in his pocket_). Nothing whatever to do with
me! Mater, you really are a bit too thick. If it was a knighthood, I
wouldn't care. You could have your blooming knighthood. Knighthoods do
come to an end. Baronetcies go on for ever. I've told the dad, and I'll
tell you, that _I will not have_ my political career ruined by any
baronetcy. And if you insist--may I respectfully inform you what I shall
do? May I respectfully inform you--may I?
MRS. CULVER. John!
JOHN. I shall chuck Siege and go into the Flying Corps. And that's flat.
If you really want to shorten my life, all you have to do is to stick to
that bally baronetcy.
MRS. CULVER. Your father won't allow you to join the Flying Corps.
JOHN. My father can't stop me. I know the mess is expensive, but the
pay's good, and I've got L150 of my own. Not a fortune! Not a fortune!
But enough, quite enough. _A short life and a merry one_. I went to see
Captain Skewes at the Automobile this morning. One of our old boys. He's
delighted. He gave me Lanchester's 'Aircraft in Warfare' to read. Here
it is. (_Picking up the book_.) Here it _is_! I shall be sitting up all
night to-night reading it. _A short life and a merry one_.
MRS. CULVER. You don't mean it!
JOHN. I absolutely do.
MRS. CULVER (_after a pause_). John, you're trying to bully your mother.
JOHN. Not in the least, mater. I'm merely telling you what will happen
if father accepts that piffling baronetcy.
MRS. CULVER (_checking a tear; very sweetly_). Well, my pets, you make
life just a little difficult for me. I live only for you and your
father. I think first of your father, and then of you two. For myself, I
am perfectly indifferent. I consider all politics extremely silly. There
never were any in my family, nor in your father's. And to me it's most
extraordinary that your father should catch them so late in life. I
always supposed that after thirty people were immune. (_To_ John.) You,
I suppose, were bound to have them sooner or later, but that _Hilda_
should go out of her way to contract them--well, it passes me. It passes
me. However, I've no more to say. Your father had made up his mind to
accept the title. You want him to refuse it. I hate to influence him
(Hildegarde _again hides a cynical smile_) but for your sakes I'll try
to persuade him to alter his decision and refuse it.
JOHN (_taking her arm_). Come along then--now! I'll go with you to see
fair play. (_He opens the door, L, and_ Mrs. Culver _passes out. Then
stopping in the doorway, to_ Hildegarde) Who did the trick? I say--who
did the trick?
HILDEGARDE (_nicely_). Pooh! You may be a prefect at school. But here
you're only mamma's wee lamb! (_She drops on to the sofa_.)
JOHN (_singing triumphantly_). Stay--me--with fla--gons! (_Exit_ John,
_L_.)
_Enter_ Tranto, _back, shown in by the_ Parlourmaid.
TRANTO. How d'ye do, Miss Hilda. I'm in a high state of nerves.
HILDEGARDE (_shaking hands weakly_). We all are.
TRANTO (_ignoring what she says_). I've come specially to see you.
HILDEGARDE. But how did you know I should be here--at this time? I'm
supposed to be at the Food Ministry till one o'clock?
TRANTO. I called for you at the Ministry.
HILDEGARDE (_leaning forward_). That's quite against the rules. The
rules are made for the moral protection of the women-clerks.
TRANTO. They told me you'd left early.
HILDEGARDE. Why did you call?
TRANTO. Shall I be frank?
HILDEGARDE. Are you ever?
TRANTO. I wanted to walk home with you.
HILDEGARDE. Are you getting frightened about that next article of mine?
TRANTO. No. I've lost all interest in articles.
HILDEGARDE. Even in my articles?
TRANTO. Even in yours. I'm only interested in the writer of your
articles. (_Agitated_.) Miss Hilda, the hour is about to strike.
HILDEGARDE. What hour?
TRANTO. Listen, please. Let me explain. The situation is this. Instinct
has got hold of me. When I woke up this morning something inside me
said: 'You must call at the Ministry for that young woman and walk home
with her.' This idea seemed marvellously beautiful to me; it seemed one
of the most enchanting ideas that had ever entered the heart of man. I
thought of nothing else all the morning. When I reached the Ministry and
you'd gone, I felt as if I'd been shot. Then I rushed here. If you
hadn't been at home I don't know what I should have done. My fever has
been growing every moment. Providentially you _are_ here. I give you
fair warning that I'm utterly in the grip of an instinct which is
ridiculously unconventional and which will brook no delay. I repeat, the
hour is about to strike.
HILDEGARDE (_rousing herself_). Before it actually strikes, I want to
ask a question.
TRANTO. But that's just what _I_ want to do.
HILDEGARDE. Please. One moment of your valuable time.
TRANTO. The whole of my life.
HILDEGARDE. Last night, why did you advise papa to give way to mamma and
accept the baronetcy?
TRANTO. Did I?
HILDEGARDE. It seems so.
TRANTO. Well--er--
HILDEGARDE. You know it's quite against his principles, and against mine
and Johnnie's, not to speak of yours.
TRANTO. The fact is, you yourself had given me such an account of your
mother's personality that I felt sure she'd win anyhow; and--and--for
reasons of my own, I wished to be on the winning side. No harm in that,
surely. And as regards principles, I have a theory about principles.
Your father was much struck by it when I told him.
HILDEGARDE. Namely?
TRANTO. There are no principles in married life.
HILDEGARDE. Oh, indeed! Well, there may not be any principles in your
married life, but there most positively will be in mine, if I ever have
a married life. And let me tell you that you aren't on the winning side
after all--you're on the losing side.
TRANTO. How? Has your--
HILDEGARDE. Johnnie and I have had a great interview with mamma, and
she's yielded. She's abandoned the baronetcy. In half an hour from now
the baronetcy will have been definitely and finally refused.
TRANTO. Great Scott!
HILDEGARDE. You're startled?
TRANTO. No! After all, I might have foreseen that you'd come out on top.
The day before yesterday your modesty was making you say that your
mother could eat you. I, on the contrary, insisted that you could eat
your mother. Who was right? I ask: who was right? When it really comes
to the point--well, you have a serious talk with your mother, and she
gives in!
HILDEGARDE (_gloomily_). No! _I_ didn't do it. I tried, and failed. Then
Johnnie tried, and did it without the slightest trouble. A schoolboy!
That's why I'm so upset.
TRANTO (_shaking his head_). You musn't tell me that, Miss Hilda. Of
course it was you that did it.
HILDEGARDE (_impatiently; standing up_). But I _do_ tell you.
TRANTO. Sorry! Sorry! Do be merciful! My feelings about you at this very
moment are so, if I may use the term, unbridled--
HILDEGARDE (_with false
gentle calm_). And that's not all. I suppose you haven't by any chance
told father that I'm Sampson Straight?
TRANTO. Certainly not.
HILDEGARDE. You're sure?
TRANTO. Absolutely.
HILDEGARDE. Well, I'm sorry.
TRANTO. Why?
HILDEGARDE (_quietly sarcastic_). Because papa told me you did tell him.
Therefore father is a liar. I don't like being the daughter of a liar. I
hate liars.
TRANTO. Aren't you rather cutting yourself off from mankind?
HILDEGARDE (_going straight on_). For the last day or two father had
been giving me such queer little digs every now and then that I began to
suspect he knew who Sampson Straight was. So I asked him right out this
morning--he was in bed--and he had to acknowledge he did know and that
you told him.
TRANTO. Well, I didn't exactly tell him. He sort of guessed, and
I--
HILDEGARDE (_calmly, relentlessly_). You told him.
TRANTO. No. I merely admitted it. You think I ought to have denied it?
HILDEGARDE. Of course you ought to have denied it.
TRANTO. But it was true.
HILDEGARDE. And if it was?
TRANTO. If it was true, how could I deny it? You've just said you hate
liars.
HILDEGARDE (_losing self-control_). Please don't be absurd.
TRANTO (_a little nettled_). I apologise.
HILDEGARDE. What for?
TRANTO. For having put you in the wrong. It's such shocking bad
diplomacy for any man to put any woman in the wrong.
HILDEGARDE (_angrily_). Man--woman! Man--woman! There you are! It's
always the same with you males. Sex! Sex! Sex!
TRANTO (_quite conquering his annoyance; persuasively_). But I'm fatally
in love with you. HILDEGARDE. Well, of course there you have the
advantage of me.
TRANTO. Don't you care a little--
HILDEGARDE (_letting herself go_). Why should I care? What have I done
to make you imagine I care? It's quite true that I've saved your
newspaper from an early grave. It was suffering from rickets, spinal
curvature, and softening of the brain; and I've performed a miraculous
cure on it with my articles. I'm Sampson Straight. But that's not enough
for you. You can't keep sentiment out of business. No man ever could.
You'd like Sampson Straight to wear blouses and bracelets for you, and
loll on sofas for you, and generally offer you the glad eye. It's an
insult. And then on the top of all, you go and give the whole show away
to papa, in spite of our understanding; and if papa hadn't been the
greatest dear in the world you might have got me into the most serious
difficulties.
TRANTO (_equably, after a pause_), I don't think I'll ask myself to stay
for lunch.
HILDEGARDE. Good morning.
TRANTO (_near the door_). I suppose I'd better announce that he's died
very suddenly under mysterious circumstances?
HILDEGARDE. Who?
TRANTO. Sampson Straight.
HILDEGARDE. And what about my new article, that you've got in hand?
TRANTO. It can be a posthumous article, in a black border.
HILDEGARDE. Indeed! And why shouldn't Sampson Straight transfer his
services to another paper? There are several who'd jump at him.
TRANTO. I never thought of that.
HILDEGARDE. Naturally!
TRANTO. He shall live.
(_A pause_. Tranto _bows, and exit, back_.)
(Hildegarde _subsides once more on to the sofa_.)
_Enter_ Culver, _in his velvet coat, L_.
CULVER (_softly, with sprightliness_). Hello, Sampson!
HILDEGARDE. Dad, please don't call me that.
CULVER. Not when we're alone? Why?
HILDEGARDE. I--I--Dad, I'm in a fearful state of nerves just now. Lost
my temper and all sorts of calamities.
CULVER. Really! I'd no idea. I gathered that the interview between you
and your mother had passed quite smoothly.
HILDEGARDE. Oh! _That!_
CULVER. What do you mean--'Oh! _That!_'?
HILDEGARDE (_standing; in a new, less gloomy tone_). Papa, what are you
doing out of bed? You're very ill.
CULVER. Well, I'd managed to dress before your mother and Johnnie came.
As soon as they imparted to me the glad tidings that baronetcies were
off I felt so well I decided to come down and thank you for your
successful efforts on behalf of the family well-being. I'm no longer
your father. I'm your brother.
HILDEGARDE. It was Johnnie did it.
CULVER. It wasn't--_I_ know.
HILDEGARDE (_exasperated_). I say it _was!_ (_Apologetically_). So
sorry, dad. (_Kisses him_). Where are they, those two? (_Sits_).
CULVER. Mother and John? Don't know. I fancy somebody called as I came
down.
HILDEGARDE. Called! Before lunch! Who was it?
CULVER. Haven't the faintest.
_Enter_ John, _back_.
JOHN (_proudly_). I say, good people! New acquaintance of mine! Just
looked in. Met him at the Automobile this morning with Skewes. I was
sure you'd all give your heads to see the old chap, so I asked him to
lunch on the chance. Dashed if he didn't accept! You see we'd been
talking a bit about politics. He's the most celebrated man in London. I
doubt if there's a fellow I admire more in the whole world--or you
either. He's knocked the mater flat already. Between ourselves, I really
asked him because I thought he might influence her on this baronetcy
business. However, that's all off now. What are you staring at?
CULVER. We're only bursting with curiosity to hear the name of this
paragon of yours. As a general rule I like to know beforehand whom I'm
going to lunch with in my own house.
JOHN. It's Sampson Straight.
HILDEGARDE (_springing up_). _Sampson Str_--
CULVER (_calmly_). Keep your nerve, Hilda. Keep your nerve.
JOHN. I thought I wouldn't say anything till he'd actually arrived. He
mightn't have come at all. Then what a fool I should have looked if I'd
told you he _was_ coming! Tranto himself doesn't know him. Tranto
pooh-poohed the idea of me ever meeting him, Tranto did. Well, I've met
him, and he's here. I haven't let on to him that I know Tranto. I'm
going to bring them together and watch them both having the surprise of
their lives.
CULVER. John, this is a great score for you. I admit I've never been
more interested in meeting anyone. Never!
_Enter_ Parlourmaid, _back_.
PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey, sir.
CULVER (_cheerfully_). I'll see her soon. (_Pulling himself up suddenly;
in an alarmed, gloomy tone_.) No, no! I can't possibly see her.
PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey says there are several important letters, sir.
CULVER. No, no! I'm not equal to it.
HILDEGARDE (_confidentially_). What's wrong, dad?
CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde). She'll give me notice the minute she knows she
can't call me Sir Arthur. (_Shudders_.) I quail.
_Enter_ Mrs. Culver _and_ Sampson Straight, _back_.
(_The_ Parlourmaid _holds the door for them, and then exit_.)
MRS. CULVER. This is my husband. Arthur, dear--Mr. Sampson Straight. And
this is my little daughter. (Hilda _bows_, John _surveys the scene with
satisfaction_.)
CULVER (_recovering his equipoise; shaking hands heartily_). Mr.
Straight. Delighted to meet you. I simply cannot tell you how unexpected
this pleasure is.
STRAIGHT. You're too kind.
CULVER (_gaily_). I doubt it. I doubt it.
STRAIGHT. I ought to apologise for coming in like this. But I've been so
charmingly received by Mrs. Culver--
MRS. CULVER. You've been so charming about my boy, Mr. Straight.
STRAIGHT. I was so very greatly impressed by your son this morning at
the Club that I couldn't resist the opportunity he gave me of visiting
his home. What I say is: like parents, like child. I'm an old-fashioned
man.
MRS. CULVER. No one would guess that from your articles in _The Echo_.
Of course they're frightfully clever, but you know I don't quite agree
with all your opinions.
STRAIGHT. Neither do I. You see--there's always a difference between
what one thinks and what one has to write.
MRS. CULVER. I'm so glad. (Culver _starts and looks round_.) What is it,
Arthur?
CULVER. Nothing! I thought I heard the ice cracking. (Hildegarde _begins
to smile_.)
STRAIGHT (_looking at the floor; simply_). Ice?
MRS. CULVER. Arthur!
STRAIGHT. It was still thawing when I came in. As I was saying, I'm an
old-fashioned man. And I'm a provincial--and proud of it.
MRS. CULVER. But my dear Mr. Straight, really, if you'll excuse me, you
look as if you never left the pavement of Piccadilly. CULVER. Say the
windows of the Turf club, darling.
STRAIGHT (_serenely_). No. I live very, very quietly on my little place,
and when I feel the need of contact with the great world I run over for
the afternoon to--St. Ives.
MRS. CULVER. How remarkable! Then that explains how it is you're so
deliciously unspoilt.
STRAIGHT. Do you mean my face?
MRS. CULVER. I meant you don't seem at all to realise that you're a very
great celebrity in London; very great indeed. A lion of the first order.
STRAIGHT (_simply_). Lion?
CULVER. You're expected to roar, Mr. Straight.
STRAIGHT. Roar?
MRS. CULVER. It may interest you to know that my little daughter also
writes articles in _The Echo_. Yes, about war cookery. But of course you
wouldn't notice them. (Hildegarde _moves away_.) I'm afraid
(_apologetically_) your mere presence is making her just a wee bit
nervous. HILDEGARDE (_from a distance, striving to control herself_).
Oh, Mr. Sampson Straight. There's one question I've been longing to ask
you. I always ask it of literary lions--and tigers.
STRAIGHT. Tigers?
HILDEGARDE. Do you write best in the morning or do you burn the midnight
oil?
STRAIGHT. Oil?
MRS. CULVER. Do sit down, Mr. Straight. (_She goes imploringly to_
Hildegarde, _who has lost control of herself and is getting a little
hysterical with mirth. Aside to_ Hildegarde.) Hilda! (John, _puzzled and
threatening, also approaches_ Hildegarde.)
CULVER (_sitting down by_ Straight.) And so, although you prefer a
country life, the lure of London has been too strong for you in the end.
STRAIGHT. I came to town on business.
CULVER. Ah!
STRAIGHT. The fact is, business of the utmost importance. Perhaps I may
be able to interest you in it.
CULVER. Now we're getting hotter.
STRAIGHT. Hotter?
CULVER. Go on, go on, Mr. Straight.
STRAIGHT. To tell you the truth--
CULVER. Always a wise thing to do.
STRAIGHT. One of my reasons for accepting your son's kind invitation was
that I thought that conceivably you might be willing to help in a great
patriotic scheme of mine. Naturally you show surprise.