Augustus Does His Bit | Page 4

a performance of this little play. It opened the heart of every
official to me. I have always been treated with distinguished
consideration in my contracts with bureaucracy during the war; but on
this occasion I found myself persona grata in the highest degree. There
was only one word when the formalities were disposed of; and that was
"We are up against Augustus all day." The showing-up of Augustus
scandalized one or two innocent and patriotic critics who regarded the
prowess of the British army as inextricably bound up with Highcastle
prestige. But our Government departments knew better: their problem
was how to win the war with Augustus on their backs, well-meaning,
brave, patriotic, but obstructively fussy, self-important, imbecile, and
disastrous.
Save for the satisfaction of being able to laugh at Augustus in the
theatre, nothing, as far as I know, came of my dramatic reduction of
him to absurdity. Generals, admirals, Prime Ministers and Controllers,
not to mention Emperors, Kaisers and Tsars, were scrapped
remorselessly at home and abroad, for their sins or services, as the case
might be. But Augustus stood like the Eddystone in a storm, and stands
so to this day. He gave us his word that he was indispensable and we
took it.
Augustus Does His Bit was performed for the first time at the Court
Theatre in London by the Stage Society on the 21st January, 1917, with
Lalla Vandervelde as The Lady, F. B.J. Sharp as Lord Augustus
Highcastle, and Charles Rock as Horatio Floyd Beamish.
AUGUSTUS DOES HIS BIT
The Mayor's parlor in the Town Hall of Little Pifflington. Lord
Augustus Highcastle, a distinguished member of the governing class, in
the uniform of a colonel, and very well preserved at forty-five, is
comfortably seated at a writing-table with his heels on it, reading The
Morning Post. The door faces him, a little to his left, at the other side of
the room. The window is behind him. In the fireplace, a gas stove. On

the table a bell button and a telephone. Portraits of past Mayors, in
robes and gold chains, adorn the walls. An elderly clerk with a short
white beard and whiskers, and a very red nose, shuffles in.
AUGUSTUS [hastily putting aside his paper and replacing his feet on
the floor]. Hullo! Who are you?
THE CLERK. The staff [a slight impediment in his speech adds to the
impression of incompetence produced by his age and appearance].
AUGUSTUS. You the staff! What do you mean, man?
THE CLERK. What I say. There ain't anybody else.
AUGUSTUS. Tush! Where are the others?
THE CLERK. At the front.
AUGUSTUS. Quite right. Most proper. Why aren't you at the front?
THE CLERK. Over age. Fifty-seven.
AUGUSTUS. But you can still do your bit. Many an older man is in the
G.R.'s, or volunteering for home defence.
THE CLERK. I have volunteered.
AUGUSTUS. Then why are you not in uniform?
THE CLERK. They said they wouldn't have me if I was given away
with a pound of tea. Told me to go home and not be an old silly. [A
sense of unbearable wrong, till now only smouldering in him, bursts
into flame.] Young Bill Knight, that I took with me, got two and
sevenpence. I got nothing. Is it justice? This country is going to the
dogs, if you ask me.
AUGUSTUS [rising indignantly]. I do not ask you, sir; and I will not
allow you to say such things in my presence. Our statesmen are the
greatest known to history. Our generals are invincible. Our army is the
admiration of the world. [Furiously.] How dare you tell me that the
country is going to the dogs!
THE CLERK. Why did they give young Bill Knight two and
sevenpence, and not give me even my tram fare? Do you call that being
great statesmen? As good as robbing me, I call it.
AUGUSTUS. That's enough. Leave the room. [He sits down and takes
up his pen, settling himself to work. The clerk shuffles to the door.
Augustus adds, with cold politeness] Send me the Secretary.
THE CLERK. I'M the Secretary. I can't leave the room and send myself
to you at the same time, can I?
AUGUSTUS, Don't be insolent. Where is the gentleman I have been

corresponding with: Mr Horatio Floyd Beamish?
THE CLERK [returning and bowing]. Here. Me.
AUGUSTUS. You! Ridiculous. What right have you to call yourself by
a pretentious name of that sort?
THE CLERK. You may drop the Horatio Floyd. Beamish is good
enough for me.
AUGUSTUS. Is there nobody else to take my instructions?
THE CLERK. It's me or nobody. And for two pins I'd chuck it. Don't
you drive me too far. Old uns like me is up in the world now.
AUGUSTUS. If we were not