John Bulls Other Island | Page 7

with Broadbent's eupeptic jollity.
He comes in as a man at home there, but on seeing the stranger shrinks
at once, and is about to withdraw when Broadbent reassures him. He
then comes forward to the table, between the two others.
DOYLE [retreating]. You're engaged.
BROADBENT. Not at all, not at all. Come in. [To Tim] This
gentleman is a friend who lives with me here: my partner, Mr Doyle.
[To Doyle] This is a new Irish friend of mine, Mr Tim Haffigan.
TIM [rising with effusion]. Sure it's meself that's proud to meet any
friend o Misther Broadbent's. The top o the mornin to you, sir! Me

heart goes out teeye both. It's not often I meet two such splendid
speciments iv the Anglo-Saxon race.
BROADBENT [chuckling] Wrong for once, Tim. My friend Mr Doyle
is a countryman of yours.
Tim is noticeably dashed by this announcement. He draws in his horns
at once, and scowls suspiciously at Doyle under a vanishing mark of
goodfellowship: cringing a little, too, in mere nerveless fear of him.
DOYLE [with cool disgust]. Good evening. [He retires to the fireplace,
and says to Broadbent in a tone which conveys the strongest possible
hint to Haffigan that he is unwelcome] Will you soon be disengaged?
TIM [his brogue decaying into a common would-be genteel accent with
an unexpected strain of Glasgow in it]. I must be going. Ivnmportnt
engeegement in the west end.
BROADBENT [rising]. It's settled, then, that you come with me.
TIM. Ish'll be verra pleased to accompany ye, sir.
BROADBENT. But how soon? Can you start tonight--from Paddington?
We go by Milford Haven.
TIM [hesitating]. Well--I'm afreed--I [Doyle goes abruptly into the
bedroom, slamming the door and shattering the last remnant of Tim's
nerve. The poor wretch saves himself from bursting into tears by
plunging again into his role of daredevil Irishman. He rushes to
Broadbent; plucks at his sleeve with trembling fingers; and pours forth
his entreaty with all the brogue be can muster, subduing his voice lest
Doyle should hear and return]. Misther Broadbent: don't humiliate me
before a fella counthryman. Look here: me cloes is up the spout.
Gimme a fypounnote--I'll pay ya nex choosda whin me ship comes
home--or you can stop it out o me month's sallery. I'll be on the
platform at Paddnton punctial an ready. Gimme it quick, before he
comes back. You won't mind me axin, will ye?
BROADBENT. Not at all. I was about to offer you an advance for
travelling expenses. [He gives him a bank note].
TIM [pocketing it]. Thank you. I'll be there half an hour before the
thrain starts. [Larry is heard at the bedroom door, returning]. Whisht:
he's comin back. Goodbye an God bless ye. [He hurries out almost
crying, the 5 pound note and all the drink it means to him being too
much for his empty stomach and overstrained nerves].
DOYLE [returning]. Where the devil did you pick up that seedy

swindler? What was he doing here? [He goes up to the table where the
plans are, and makes a note on one of them, referring to his pocket
book as be does so].
BROADBENT. There you go! Why are you so down on every
Irishman you meet, especially if he's a bit shabby? poor devil! Surely a
fellow-countryman may pass you the top of the morning without
offence, even if his coat is a bit shiny at the seams.
DOYLE [contemptuously]. The top of the morning! Did he call you the
broth of a boy? [He comes to the writing table].
BROADBENT [triumphantly]. Yes.
DOYLE. And wished you more power to your elbow?
BROADBENT. He did.
DOYLE. And that your shadow might never be less?
BROADBENT. Certainly.
DOYLE [taking up the depleted whisky bottle and shaking his head at
it]. And he got about half a pint of whisky out of you.
BROADBENT. It did him no harm. He never turned a hair.
DOYLE. How much money did he borrow?
BROADBENT. It was not borrowing exactly. He showed a very
honorable spirit about money. I believe he would share his last shilling
with a friend.
DOYLE. No doubt he would share his friend's last shilling if his friend
was fool enough to let him. How much did he touch you for?
BROADBENT. Oh, nothing. An advance on his salary--for travelling
expenses.
DOYLE. Salary! In Heaven's name, what for?
BROADBENT. For being my Home Secretary, as he very wittily called
it.
DOYLE. I don't see the joke.
BROADBENT. You can spoil any joke by being cold blooded about it.
I saw it all right when he said it. It was something--something really
very amusing--about the Home Secretary and the Irish Secretary. At all
events, he's evidently the very man to take with me to Ireland to break