Hobsons Choice | Page 5

italics of a visiting card, my man. Now listen to me. I heard about this shop, and what I heard brought me here for these boots. I'm particular about what I put on my feet.
HOBSON (moving slightly towards her). I assure you it shall not occur again, Mrs. Hepworth.
MRS. HEPWORTH. What shan't?
HOBSON (crestfallen). I--I don't know.
MRS. HEPWORTH. Then hold your tongue. Mossop, I've tried every shop in Manchester, and these are the best-made pair of boots I've ever had. Now, you'll make my boots in future. You hear that, Hobson?
(MAGGIE, down L. C., is taking it all in.)
HOBSON. Yes, madam, of course he shall.
MRS. HEPWORTH. You'll keep that card, Mossop, and you won't dare leave here to go to another shop without letting me know where you are.
HOBSON. Oh, he won't make a change.
MRS. HEPWORTH. How do you know? The man's a treasure, and I expect you underpay him.
HOBSON. That'll do, Willie. You can go.
WILLIE. Yes, sir.
(He dives down trap. MAGGIE closes it.)
MRS. HEPWORTH. He's like a rabbit.
MAGGIE. Can I take your order for another pair of boots, Mrs. Hepworth?
MRS. HEPWORTH. Not yet, young woman. But I shall send my daughters here. And, mind you, that man's to make the boots. (She crosses L.)
MAGGIE. (Up at doors and opening them.) Certainly, Mrs. Hepworth.
MRS. HEPWORTH. Good morning.
HOBSON. Good morning, Mrs. Hepworth. Very glad to have the honour of serving you, madam. (Following her up.)
(She goes out.)
(Angry.) I wish some people would mind their own business. What does she want to praise a workman to his face for? (Moves down L. and then to C.)
MAGGIE. I suppose he deserved it.
HOBSON. Deserved be blowed! Making them uppish. That's what it is. Last time she puts her foot in my shop, I give you my word.
MAGGIE. Don't be silly, father.
HOBSON. I'll show her. Thinks she owns the earth because she lives at Hope Hall.
(Enter from street JIM HEELER, who is a grocer, and HOBSON'S boon companion.)
JIM (looking down street as he enters). That's a bit of a startler.
HOBSON (swinging round). Eh? Oh, morning, Jim.
JIM. You're doing a good class trade if the carriage folk come to you, Hobson. (Moves down L. C.)
HOBSON. What?
JIM. Wasn't that Mrs. Hepworth?
HOBSON. Oh yes. Mrs. Hepworth's an old and valued customer of mine.
JIM. It's funny you deal with Hope Hall and never mentioned it.
HOBSON. Why, I've made boots for her and all her circle for... how long, Maggie? Oh, I dunno.
JIM. You kept it dark. Well, aren't you coming round yonder? (Moving up L.)
HOBSON (reaching for his hat). Yes. That is, no.
JIM. Are you ill?
HOBSON. No. Get away, you girls. I'll look after the shop. I want to talk to Mr. Heeler.
JIM. Well, can't you talk in the "Moonraker's"!
(The girls go out R. to house, MAGGIE last.)
HOBSON. Yes, with Sam Minns, and Denton and Tudsbury there.
JIM. It's private, then. What's the trouble, Henry?
(HOBSON waves JIM into arm-chair R. C. and sits in front of counter.)
HOBSON. They're the trouble. (Indicates door to house.) Do your daughters worry you, Jim?
JIM. Nay,--(sits R. C.)--they mostly do as I bid them, and the missus does the leathering if they don't.
HOBSON. Ah, Jim, a wife's a handy thing, and you don't know it proper till she's taken from you. I felt grateful for the quiet when my Mary fell on rest, but I can see my mistake now. I used to think I was hard put to it to fend her off when she wanted summat out of me, but the dominion of one woman is Paradise to the dominion of three.
JIM. It sounds a sad case, Henry.
HOBSON. I'm a talkative man by nature, Jim. You know that.
JIM. You're an orator, Henry. I doubt John Bright himself is better gifted of the gab than you.
HOBSON. Nay, that's putting it a bit too strong. A good case needs no flattery.
JIM. Well, you're the best debater in the "Moonraker's" parlour.
HOBSON. And that's no more than truth. Yes, Jim, in the estimation of my fellow men, I give forth words of weight. In the eyes of my daughters I'm a windbag. (Rises and moves down L.).
JIM. Nay. Never!
HOBSON. I am. (Turns.) They scorn my wisdom, Jim. They answer back. I'm landed in a hole--a great and undignified hole. My own daughters have got the upper hand of me.
JIM. Women are worse than men for getting above themselves.
HOBSON. A woman's foolishness begins where man's leaves off.
JIM. They want a firm hand, Henry.
HOBSON. I've lifted up my voice and roared at them.
JIM. Beware of roaring at women, Henry. Roaring is mainly hollow sound. It's like trying to defeat an army with banging drums instead of cold steel. And it's steel in a man's character that subdues the women.
HOBSON. I've tried all ways, and I'm fair moithered. I dunno what to do. (Scratches his head.)
JIM. Then you quit roaring at