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. Do I? Then I'm expressing myself badly. I'm not in the least
surprised. It is the contrary that would have surprised me.
STRAIGHT. We may possibly discuss it later.
CULVER. Later? Why later? Why not at once? I'm full of curiosity. I hate
to let the grass grow under my feet.
STRAIGHT (_looking at the floor_). Grass? (_With a faint mechanical
laugh_.) Ah yes, I see. Figure of speech. Well, I'm starting a little
limited liability syndicate.
CULVER. Precisely what I thought. Yes?
STRAIGHT. The End-the-war Syndicate.
JOHN (_approaching_). But surely you aren't one of those pacifists, Mr.
Straight! You've always preached fighting it out to a finish.
STRAIGHT. The object of my syndicate is certainly to fight to a finish,
but to finish in about a week--by means of my little syndicate.
CULVER. Splendid! But there is one draw-back. New capital issues are
forbidden under the Defence of the Realm Act.
STRAIGHT. Even when the object is to win the war?
CULVER. My dear sir, the Treasury would never permit such a thing.
STRAIGHT. Well, we needn't have a limited company. Perhaps after all it
would be better to keep it quite private.
CULVER. Oh! It would. And what is the central idea of this charming
syndicate?
STRAIGHT. The idea is--(_looking round cautiously_)--a new explosive.
CULVER. Again, precisely what I thought. Your own invention?
STRAIGHT. No. A friend of mine. It truly is the most marvellous explosive.
CULVER. I suppose it bangs everything.
STRAIGHT (_simply_). Oh, it does. A development of trinitrotoluol on new
lines. I needn't say that my interest in the affair is purely patriotic.
CULVER. Of course. Of course.
STRAIGHT. I can easily get all the capital I need.
CULVER. Of course. Of course.
STRAIGHT. But I'm not in close touch with the official world, and in a
matter of this kind official influence is absolutely essential to
success. Now you _are_ in touch with the official world. I shouldn't ask
you to subscribe, though if you cared to do so there would be no
objection. And I may say that the syndicate can't help making a
tremendous lot of money. When I tell you that the new explosive is
forty-seven times as powerful as trinitrotoluol itself--
CULVER. When you tell me that, Mr. Straight, I can only murmur the hope
that you haven't got any of it in your pocket.
STRAIGHT (_simply_). Oh, no! Please don't be alarmed. But you see the
immense possibilities. You see how this explosive would end the war
practically at once. And you'll understand, of course, that although my
articles in _The Echo_ have apparently caused considerable commotion in
London, and given me a position which I am glad to be able to use for
the service of the Empire, my interest in mere journalism as such has
almost ceased since my friend asked me to be secretary and treasurer of
the syndicate.
CULVER. And so you're the secretary _and_ treasurer?
STRAIGHT. Yes. We don't want to have subscribers of less than L100 each.
If you cared to look into the matter--I know you're very busy, but a
mere glance--
CULVER. Just so--a mere glance.
_Enter_ Tranto _excitedly_.
HILDEGARDE (_nearer the door than the rest_). Again?
TRANTO (_rather loudly and not specially to_ Hildegarde). Terrible news!
I've just heard and I rushed back to tell you. Sampson Straight has died
very suddenly in Cornwall. Bright's disease. He breathed his last in
his own potato patch. (_Aside to_ Hildegarde, _in response to a gesture
from her_) I'm awfully sorry. The poor fellow simply had to expire.
MRS. CULVER (_to_ Tranto). Now this just shows how the most absurd
rumours _do_ get abroad! Here _is_ Mr. Sampson Straight. I'm _so_ glad
you've come, because you've always wanted to meet him in the flesh.
TRANTO (_to_ Straight). Are you Sampson Straight?
STRAIGHT. I am, sir.
TRANTO. The Sampson Straight who lives in Cornwall?
STRAIGHT. Just so.
TRANTO. Impossible!
STRAIGHT. Pardon me. One moment. I was told there was a danger of my
being inconvenienced in London by one of these military raids for
rounding up slackers, and as I happen to have a rather youthful
appearance, I took the precaution of bringing with me my
birth-certificate and registration card. (_Produces them_.)
TRANTO (_glancing at the card_). And it's really you who write those
brilliant articles in _The Echo_?
STRAIGHT. 'Brilliant'--I won't say. But I do write them.
TRANTO. Well, this is the most remarkable instance of survival after
death that I ever came across.
STRAIGHT. I beg your pardon.
TRANTO. You're dead, my fine fellow. Your place isn't here. You ought to
be in the next world. You're a humbug.
STRAIGHT (_to_ Mrs. Culver). I'm not quite sure that I understand. Will
you kindly introduce me?
MRS. CULVER. I'm so sorry. This is Mr. Tranto, proprietor and editor of
_The Echo_--(_apologetically, with an uneasy smile_) a great humourist.
STRAIGHT (_thunderstruck; aside_). Well, I'm damned! (_His whole
demeanour changes. Nevertheless, while tacitly admitting that he is
found out, he at once resumes his mild calmness. To_ Culver.) I've just
remembered an appointment of vital importance. I'm afraid our little
talk about the syndicate must be adjourned.
CULVER. I feared you might have to hurry away.
(Straight _bows as a preliminary to departure_.)
(John, _deeply humiliated, averts his glance from everybody_.)
TRANTO. Here! But you can't go off like this.
STRAIGHT. Why? Have you anything against me?
TRANTO. Nothing (_casually_) except that you're an impostor.
STRAIGHT. I fail to see it.
TRANTO. But haven't you just said that you write those articles in my
paper?
STRAIGHT. Oh! _That_! Well, of course, if I'd known who you were I
shouldn't have dreamed of saying any such thing. I always try to suit my
talk to my company.
TRANTO. This time you didn't quite bring it off.
STRAIGHT. Perhaps I owe you some slight explanation (_looking round
blandly_).
CULVER. Do you really think so?
STRAIGHT. The explanation is simplicity itself. (_A sudden impulse_.)
Nothing but that. Put yourselves in my place. I come to London. I hear a
vast deal of chatter about some articles in a paper called _The Echo_ by
some one calling himself 'Sampson Straight.' I also hear that nobody in
London knows who Sampson Straight is. As I happen to _be_ Sampson
Straight, and as I have need of all possible personal prestige for the
success of my purely patriotic mission, it occurs to me--in a flash!--to
assert that I am the author of the famous articles.... Well, what more
natural?
CULVER. What indeed?
STRAIGHT (_to_ Tranto). And may I say that I'm the only genuine Sampson
Straight in the United Kingdom, and that in my opinion it was a gross
impertinence on the part of your contributor to steal my name? Why did
you let him do it?
TRANTO (_beginning reflectively_). Now _I_ hit on that name--not my
contributor. It was when I was down in Cornwall. I caught sight of it in
an old yellow newspaper in an old yellow hotel, and it struck me at once
what a fine signature it would make at the bottom of a slashing article.
By the way, have you ever been in the dock?
STRAIGHT. Dock?
TRANTO. I only ask because I seem to remember I saw your splendid name
in a report of the local Assizes.
STRAIGHT. Assizes?
TRANTO. A, double s (_pause_) i-z-e-s.
STRAIGHT. I can afford to be perfectly open. I was--at one period of my
career--in prison, but for a quite respectable crime. Bigamy--with
extenuating circumstances.
MRS. CULVER (_greatly upset_). Dear, dear!
STRAIGHT. It might happen to any man.
CULVER (_looking at_ Mrs. Culver). So it might.
STRAIGHT. Do you wish to detain me?
TRANTO. I simply haven't the heart to do it.
STRAIGHT. Then, ladies and gentlemen, I'll say good morning.
HILDEGARDE (_stopping_ Straight _near the door as he departs with more
bows_). Good-bye! (_She holds out her hand with a smile_!) And good
luck!
STRAIGHT (_taking her hand_). Madam, I thank you. You evidently
appreciate the fact that when one lives solely on one's wits, little
mishaps are _bound_ to occur from time to time, and that too much
importance ought not to be attached to them. This is only my third slip,
and I am fifty-five.
(_Exit, back_.)
MRS. CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde, _gently surprised_). Darling, surely you
need not have been quite so effusive!
HILDEGARDE. You see, I thought I owed him something, (_with meaning and
effect_) as it was I who stole his name.
MRS. CULVER (_utterly puzzled for a moment; then, when she understands,
rushing to_ Hildegarde _and embracing her_). Oh! My wonderful girl!
JOHN (_feebly and still humiliated_). Stay me with flagons!
HILDEGARDE (_to her mother_). How nice you are about it, mamma!
MRS. CULVER. But I'm very proud, my pet. Of course I think you might
have let me into the secret--
CULVER. None of us were let into the secret,
Hermione--I mean until comparatively recent times. It was a matter
between Hilda's conscience and her editor.
MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'm not complaining. I'm so relieved she didn't write
those dreadful cookery articles.
HILDEGARDE. But do you mean to say you aren't frightfully shocked by my
advanced politics, mamma?
MRS. CULVER. My child, how naive you are, after all! A woman is never
shocked, though of course at times it may suit her to pretend to be.
Only men are capable of being shocked. As for your advanced politics, as
you call them, can't you see that it doesn't matter what you write so
long as you are admired by the best people. It isn't views that are
disreputable, it's the persons that hold them.
CULVER. I hope that's why you so gracefully gave way over the baronetcy,
my dear.
MRS. CULVER (_continuing to_ Hildegarde). There's just one thing I
should venture to suggest, and that is, that you cease at once to be a
typist and employ one yourself instead. It's most essential that you
should live up to your position. Oh! I'm very proud of you.
HILDEGARDE. I don't quite know what my position is. According to the
latest news I'm dead. (_Challengingly to_ Tranto.) Mr. Tranto, you're
keeping rather quiet, nearly as quiet as John (John _changes his seat_),
but don't you think you owe me some explanation? Not more than a quarter
of an hour ago in this very room it was distinctly agreed between us
that you would not kill Sampson Straight, and now you rush back in a
sort of homicidal mania.
MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'd no idea Mr. Tranto had called already this morning!
HILDEGARDE. Yes. I told him all about everything, and we came to a
definite understanding.
MRS. CULVER. Oh!
TRANTO. I'm only too anxious to explain. I killed Sampson for the most
urgent of all possible reasons. The Government is thinking of giving him
a baronetcy?
CULVER. Not _my_ baronetcy?
TRANTO. Precisely.
MRS. CULVER. But this is the most terrible thing I ever heard of.
TRANTO. It is. I met one of my chaps in the street. He was coming here
to see me. (_To_ Culver.) Your answer was expected this morning. It
didn't arrive. Evidently your notions about titles had got abroad, and
the Government has decided to offer a title to Sampson Straight this
afternoon if you refuse.
CULVER. But how delightfully stupid of the Government.
TRANTO. On the contrary it was a really brilliant idea. Sampson Straight
is a great literary celebrity, and he'd look mighty well in the Honours
List. Literature's always a good card to play for Honours. It makes
people think that Cabinet Ministers are educated.
HILDEGARDE. But I've spent half my time in attacking the Government!
TRANTO. Do you suppose the Government doesn't know that? In creating you
a baronet (_gazes at her_) it would gain two advantages--it would prove
how broad-minded it is, and it would turn an enemy into a friend.
HILDEGARDE. But surely the silly Government would make some enquiries
first!
CULVER. Hilda, do remember what your mother said, and try to live up to
your position. This isn't the Government that makes enquiries. It's the
Government that gets things done.
TRANTO. You perceive the extreme urgency of the crisis. I had to act
instantly. I did act. I slew the fellow on the spot, and his obituary
will be in my late extra. The danger was awful--greater even than I
realised at the moment, because I didn't know till I got back here that
there was a genuine and highly unscrupulous Sampson Straight floating
about.
MRS. CULVER. Danger? What danger?
TRANTO. Danger of the Government falling, dear lady. You see, it's like
this. Assuming that the Government offers a baronetcy to Sampson
Straight, and the offer becomes public property, as it infallibly would,
then there are three alternatives. Either the Government has singled out
for honour a person who doesn't exist at all; or it has sought to turn a
woman (_glancing at_ Hilda) into a male creature; or it is holding up to
public admiration an ex-convict. Choose which theory you like. In any
case the exposure would mean the immediate ruin of any Government.
HILDEGARDE (_to_ Tranto). I always thought you _wanted_ the Government
to fall.
CULVER. Good heavens, my gifted child! No enlightened and patriotic
person wants the Government to fall. All enlightened and patriotic
persons want the Government to be afraid of falling. There you have the
whole of war politics in a nut-shell. If the British Government fell the
effect on the Allied cause would be bad, and might be extremely bad. But
that's not the real explanation. The real explanation is that no one
wants the Government to fall because no one wants to step into the
Government's shoes. However, thanks to Tranto's masterly presence of
mind in afflicting Sampson with a disease that kills like prussic acid,
the Government can no longer give Sampson a title, and the danger to the
Government is therefore over.
TRANTO. Over! I wish it was! Supposing the Government doesn't happen to
see my late extra in time! Supposing the offer of a baronetcy to Sampson
Straight goes forth! The mischief will be done. Worst of all, supposing
the only genuine Sampson Straight hears of it and accepts it! A
baronetcy given to a bigamist! No Government could possibly survive the
exposure.
MRS. CULVER. Not even if its survival was necessary to the success of
the Allied cause?
CULVER (_gloomily, shaking his head_). My dear, Tranto is right. This
great country has always insisted first of all, and before anything else
whatever, on the unsullied purity of the domestic life of its public
men. Let a baronetcy be given, or even offered, to a bigamist--and this
great country would not hesitate for one second, not one second.
TRANTO. The danger still exists. And only one man in this world can
avert it.
CULVER. You don't mean me, Tranto?
TRANTO. I understand that you have neither accepted nor refused the
offer. You must accept it instantly. Instantly.
(_A silence_. John _begins to creep towards the door, back, and_
Hildegarde _towards the door, L_.)
MRS. CULVER (_firmly_). John, where are you going?
JOHN. Anywhere.
MRS. CULVER. Have you still got that letter to Lord Woking in which
your father accepts the title?
JOHN. Yes.
MRS. CULVER. Come here. Let me see it. (_She inspects the envelope of
the letter and returns it to_ John.) Yes, that's right. Now listen to
me. Get a taxi at once and drive to Lord Woking's, and insist on seeing
Lord Woking, and give him that letter with your own hand. Do you
understand? (_Exit_ Hildegarde, _L_.) The stamp will be wasted, but
never mind. Fly!
JOHN. It's a damned shame. (Mrs. Culver _smiles calmly_.)
CULVER (_shaking_ John's _flaccid hand_). So it is. But let us remember,
my boy, that you and I are--are doing our bit. (_Pushes him violently
towards the door_.) Get along. (_Exit_ John, _back_.)
TRANTO (_looking round_). Where's Hildegarde?
MRS. CULVER. She went in there.
TRANTO. I must just speak to her.
(_Exit_ Tranto, _L_.)
MRS. CULVER (_with a gesture towards the door, L_). There's something
between those two.
CULVER. I doubt it. (_With a sigh_.)
MRS. CULVER. What do you mean--you doubt it?
CULVER. They're probably too close together for there to be anything
between them.
MRS. CULVER (_shakes her head, smiling sceptically_). The new generation
has no romance. (_In a new tone_.) Arthur, kiss me.
CULVER. I'm dashed if I do!
MRS. CULVER. Then I'll kiss you! (_She gives him a long kiss_.)
(_The lunch gong sounds during the embrace. Startled, they separate_.)
CULVER. Food!
MRS. CULVER (_with admiring enthusiasm_). You've behaved splendidly.
CULVER. Yes, that's what you always say when you've won and I--haven't.
(_She kisses him again_.)
_Enter the_ Parlourmaid, _back_.
PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey is still waiting, sir.
CULVER. Inexorable creature! I won't--I will not--(_suddenly
remembering that he has nothing to fear from_ Miss Starkey; _gaily_).
Yes, I'll see her. She must lunch with us. May she lunch with us,
Hermione?
MRS. CULVER (_submissively_). Why, Arthur, _of course!_ (_To_
Parlourmaid.) Miss Starkey can have Master John's place. Some lunch must
be kept warm for Master John. (_As the_ Parlourmaid _is leaving_.) One
moment--bring up some champagne, please.
PARLOURMAID. Yes, Madam.
(_Exit_ Parlourmaid.)
CULVER. Come along, I'm hungry. (_Leading her towards the door. Then
stopping_.) I say.... Oh well, never mind.
MRS. CULVER. But what?
CULVER. You're a staggering woman, that's all. (_Exit_ Culver _and_ Mrs.
Culver, _back_.)
_Enter_ Hildegarde _and_ Tranto.
HILDEGARDE (_plaintively, as they enter_). I told you my nerves were all
upset, and yet you ran off before I--before I--and now it's lunch time!
TRANTO (_facing her suddenly_). Hilda! I now give you my defence. (_He
kisses her_.)
_Enter_ Culver, _back, in time to interrupt the embrace_.
CULVER. Excuse me. My wife sent me to ask if you'd lunch, Tranto. I
gather that you _will_.
CURTAIN.