Dear Brutus | Page 4

age, man?
MATEY (shuffling). He won't tell, my lady. I think he is frightened
that the police would step in if they knew how old he is. They do say in
the village that they remember him seventy years ago, looking just as
he does to-day.
ALICE. Absurd.
MATEY. Yes, ma'am; but there are his razors.
LADY CAROLINE. Razors?
MATEY. You won't know about razors, my lady, not being married--as
yet--excuse me. But a married lady can tell a man's age by the number
of his razors. (A little scared.) If you saw his razors--there is a little
world of them, from patents of the present day back to implements so
horrible, you can picture him with them in his hand scraping his way
through the ages.
LADY CAROLINE. You amuse one to an extent. Was he ever
married?

MATEY (too lightly). He has quite forgotten, my lady. (Reflecting.)
How long ago is it since Merry England?
LADY CAROLINE. Why do you ask?
MABEL. In Queen Elizabeth's time, wasn't it?
MATEY. He says he is all that is left of Merry England: that little man.
MABEL (who has brothers). Lob? I think there is a famous cricketer
called Lob.
MRS. COADE. Wasn't there a Lob in Shakespeare? No, of course I am
thinking of Robin Goodfellow.
LADY CAROLINE. The names are so alike.
JOANNA. Robin Goodfellow was Puck.
MRS. COADE (with natural elation). That is what was in my head.
Lob was another name for Puck.
JOANNA. Well, he is certainly rather like what Puck might have
grown into if he had forgotten to die. And, by the way, I remember now
he does call his flowers by the old Elizabethan names.
MATEY. He always calls the Nightingale Philomel, miss--if that is any
help.
ALICE (who is not omniscient). None whatever. Tell me this, did he
specially ask you all for Midsummer week?
(They assent.)
MATEY (who might more judiciously have remained silent). He
would!
MRS. COADE. Now what do you mean?

MATEY. He always likes them to be here on Midsummer night,
ma'am.
ALICE. Them? Whom?
MATEY. Them who have that in common.
MABEL. What can it be?
MATEY. I don't know.
LADY CAROLINE (suddenly introspective). I hope we are all nice
women? We don't know each other very well. (Certain suspicions are
reborn in various breasts.) Does anything startling happen at those
times?
MATEY. I don't know.
JOANNA. Why, I believe this is Midsummer Eve!
MATEY. Yes, miss, it is. The villagers know it. They are all inside
their houses, to-night--with the doors barred.
LADY CAROLINE. Because of--of him?
MATEY. He frightens them. There are stories.
ALICE. What alarms them? Tell us--or--(She brandishes the telegram.)
MATEY. I know nothing for certain, ma'am. I have never done it
myself. He has wanted me to, but I wouldn't.
MABEL. Done what?
MATEY (with fine appeal). Oh. ma'am, don't ask me. Be merciful to
me, ma'am. I am not bad naturally. It was just going into domestic
service that did for me; the accident of being flung among bad
companions. It's touch and go how the poor turn out in this world; all
depends on your taking the right or the wrong turning.

MRS. COADE (the lenient). I daresay that is true.
MATEY (under this touch of sun). When I was young, ma'am, I was
offered a clerkship in the city. If I had taken it there wouldn't be a more
honest man alive to-day. I would give the world to be able to begin
over again.
(He means every word of it, though the flowers would here, if they
dared, burst into ironical applause.)
MRS. COADE. It is very sad, Mrs. Dearth.
ALICE. I am sorry for him; but still--
MATEY (his eyes turning to LADY CAROLINE). What do you say,
my lady?
LADY CAROLINE (briefly). As you ask me, I should certainly say
jail.
MATEY (desperately). If you will say no more about this, ma'am--I'll
give you a tip that is worth it.
ALICE. Ah, now you are talking.
LADY CAROLINE. Don't listen to him.
MATEY (lowering). You are the one that is hardest on me.
LADY CAROLINE. Yes, I flatter myself I am.
MATEY (forgetting himself). You might take a wrong turning yourself,
my lady.
LADY CAROLINE, I? How dare you, man.
(But the flowers rather like him for this; it is possibly what gave them a
certain idea.)

JOANNA (near the keyhole of the dining-room door). The men are
rising.
ALICE (hurriedly). Very well, Matey, we agree--if the 'tip' is good
enough.
LADY CAROLINE. You will regret this.
MATEY. I think not, my lady. It's this: I wouldn't go out to-night if he
asks you. Go into the garden, if you like. The garden is all right. (He
really believes this.) I wouldn't go farther--not to-night.
MRS. COADE. But he never