First Plays | Page 6

shall have
nothing to be ashamed of.
RICHARD. I see. ... Look here, may I ask you a few questions? I
should like to know just how you feel about the whole business?
CRAWSHAW (complacently folding his hands). Go ahead.
RICHARD. Suppose a stranger came up in the street to you and said,
"My poor man, here's five pounds for you," what would you do? Tell
him to go to the devil, I suppose, wouldn't you?
CRAWSHAW (humorously). In more parliamentary language, perhaps,
Richard. I should tell him I never took money from strangers.
RICHARD. Quite so; but that if it were ten thousand pounds, you
would take it?
CRAWSHAW. I most certainly shouldn't.
RICHARD. But if he died and left it to you, then you would?
CRAWSHAW (blandly). Ah, I thought you were leading up to that.
That, of course, is entirely different.
RICHARD. Why?
CRAWSHAW. Well--ah--wouldn't you take ten thousand pounds if it
were left to you by a stranger?
RICHARD. I daresay I should. But I should like to know why it would
seem different.
CRAWSHAW (professionally). Ha-hum! Well--in the first place, when
a man is dead he wants his money no longer. You can therefore be
certain that you are not taking anything from him which he cannot
spare. And in the neat place, it is the man's dying wish that you should
have the money. To refuse would be to refuse the dead. To accept
becomes almost a sacred duty.
RICHARD. It really comes to this, doesn't it? You won't take it from
him when he's alive, because if you did, you couldn't decently refuse
him a little gratitude; but you know that it doesn't matter a damn to him
what happens to his money after he's dead, and therefore you can take it
without feeling any gratitude at all.

CRAWSHAW. No, I shouldn't put it like that.
RICHARD (smiling). I'm sure you wouldn't, Robert.
CRAWSHAW No doubt you can twist it about so that--
RICHARD. All right, we'll leave that and go on to the next point.
Suppose a perfect stranger offered you five pounds to part your hair
down the middle, shave off your moustache, and wear only one
whisker--if he met you suddenly in the street, seemed to dislike your
appearance, took out a fiver and begged you to hurry off and alter
yourself--of course you'd pocket the money and go straight to your
barber's?
CRAWSHAW. Now you are merely being offensive.
RICHARD. I beg your pardon. I should have said that if he had left you
five pounds in his will?--well, then twenty pounds? a hundred
pounds?--a thousand pounds?--fifty thousand pounds?--(Jumping up
excitedly) It's only a question of price--fifty thousand pounds,
Robert--a pink tie with purple spots, hair across the back, trousers with
a patch in the fall myself Wurzel-Flummery--any old thing you like,
you can't insult me--anything you like, gentlemen, for fifty thousand
pounds. (Lowering his voice) Only you must leave it in your will, and
then I can feel that it is a sacred duty--a sacred duty, my lords and
gentlemen. (He sinks back into the sofa and relights his pipe.)
CRAWSHAW. (rising with dignity). It is evidently useless to prolong
this conversation.
RICHARD (waving him dorm again). No, no, Robert; I've finished. I
just took the other side--and I got carried away. I ought to have been at
the Bar.
CRAWSHAW. You take such extraordinary views of things. You must
look facts in the face, Richard. This is a modern world, and we are
modern people living in it. Take the matter-of-fact view. You may like
or dislike the name of--ah--Wurzel-Flummery, but you can't get away
from the fact that fifty thousand pounds is not to be sneezed at.
RICHARD (wistfully). I don't know why people shouldn't sneeze at
money sometimes. I should like to start a society for sneezing at fifty
thousand pounds. We'd have to begin in a small way, of course; we'd
begin by sneezing at five pounds--and work up. The trouble is that
we're all inoculated in our cradles against that kind of cold.
CRAWSHAW (pleasantly). You will have your little joke. But you

know as well as I do that it is only a joke. There can be no serious
reason why I should not take this money. And I--ah--gather that you
don't think it will affect my career?
RICHARD (carelessly). Not a bit. It'll help it. It'll get you into all the
comic papers.
[MARGARET comes in at this moment, to the relief of CRAWSHAW,
who is not quite certain if he is being flattered or insulted again.]
MARGARET. Well, have you told him?
RICHARD (making way for her on the sofa). I have heard the news,
Mrs. Crawshaw. And I have told Robert my opinion that he should
have no difficulty in making