Krindlesyke | Page 9

yours can hurt me now: I'm shameless, now:?I'm in the ditch, and spattered to the neck.?Come, don't mince matters: your tongue's not so modest?It fears to make your cheeks burn--I ken that;?And when the question is a woman's virtue,?It rattles like a reaper round a wheatfield,?And as little cares if it's cutting grain or poppies.?So, it's too late to blush and stammer now,?And let your teeth trip up your tongue. Speak out!
(_JIM still hesitates._)
Your wife is waiting; if you don't tell her true,?And quick about it, it's your own look-out.?I wouldn't be in your shoes, anyway.?See, how she's badgered me; and all because ...?Come: be a man: and speak.
JIM:
The brat's no brat?Of mine, Phoebe, I swear ...
(_He stops in confusion, dropping his eyes. PHOEBE turns from him, lays one hand on the latch and the other on JUDITH's arm._)
PHOEBE:
Come, lass, it's time?We were getting home.
JUDITH:
We?
PHOEBE:
Ay, unless you'd stay??You've the right.
JUDITH:
I stay? O God, what have I done!?That I'd never crossed the threshold!
ELIZA:
You're not going?To leave him, Phoebe? You cannot: you're his wife;?And cannot quit ... But, I'm getting old ...
JIM:
Leave me??Leave me? She's mad! I never heard the like--?And on my wedding-day--stark, staring mad!?But, I'm your husband; and I bid you bide.
PHOEBE:?O Jim, if you had only told the truth,?I might, God knows--for I was fond of you,?And trusted ...
JIM:
Now you're talking sense. Leave me--?And married to me in a church, and all!?But, that's all over; and you're not huffed now.?There's naught in me to take a scunner at.?Yet the shying filly may prove a steady mare,?Once a man's astriddle her who'll stand no capers.?You've got to let a woman learn who's master,?Sooner or later: so, it's just as well?To get it over, once and for all. That's that.?And now, let Judith go. Come, Phoebe, lass:?I thought you'd a tender heart. Don't be too hard?On a luckless wench: but let bygones be bygones.?All's well that ends well. And what odds, my lass,?Even if the brat were mine?
PHOEBE:
Judith, you're ready?
JIM:?Let the lass bide, and sup with us. I'll warrant?She'll not say nay: she's a peckish look, as though?She'd tasted no singing-hinnies this long while back.?Mother, another cup. Draw up your chairs.?We've not a wedding-party every day?At Krindlesyke. I'm ravenous as a squab,?When someone's potted dad and mammy crow.?So sit down, Phoebe, before I clear the board.
PHOEBE:?Judith, it's time we were getting home.
JUDITH:
Home, lass??I've got no home: I've long been homeless: I ...
PHOEBE:?That much he told me about you: he spoke the truth?So far, at least: but I have still a home,?My mother will be glad to see me back--?Ay, more than glad: she was loth to let me go;?Though, trusting Jim, as she trusted everyone,?She said but little: and she'll welcome you,?If only for your baby's sake. She's just?A child, with children. Unless you are too proud ...?Nay! But I see you'll come. We'll live and work,?And tend the bairn, as sisters, we who care.?Come, Judith.
(_She throws the door wide and goes out, without looking back. JIM steps forward to stay her, but halts, bewildered, on the threshold, and stands gazing after her._)
JIM:
I'm damned! Nay, lass, I bid you bide:?I'd see you straked, before I'd let you go ...?Do you hear, I bid ... The blasted wench, she's gone--?Gone! I've a mind ... If I don't hang for her ...?Just let me get my fingers ... But, I'm betwattled?Like a stoorded tup! And this is my wedding-day!
(_He stands speechless; but at length turns to JUDITH, who is gazing after PHOEBE with an unrealizing stare._)
JIM:?Well ... anyway, you'll not desert me, Judith.?Old friends are best: and I--I always liked you.?The other lass was a lamb to woo, but wed,?A termagant: and I'm well shot of her.?I'd have wrung the pullet's neck for her one day,?If she'd--and the devil to pay! So it's good riddance ...?Yet, she'd a way with her, she had, the filly!?And I'd have relished breaking her in. But you?Were always easy-going, and fond of me--?Ay, fond and faithful. Look, how you stood up?To her, the tawpy tauntril, for my sake!?We'll let bygones be bygones, won't we, Judith??My chickens have come home to roost, it seems.?And so, this is my baby? Who'd have dreamt ...?I little looked to harvest my wild oats.
(_JUDITH starts, shrinking from JIM: and then, clutching her baby to her bosom, she goes quickly out of the door._)
JUDITH:?I'm coming, Phoebe, coming home with you!
(_JIM stands on the doorstone, staring after her, dumbfounded, till she is out of sight; then he turns, and clashes the door to._)
ELIZA:?Ay, but it's time to bar the stable door.
JIM:?I've done with women: they're a faithless lot.
EZRA:?I can't make head or tail of all the wrangling--?Such a gillaber and gilravishing,?As I never heard in all my born days, never.?Weddings were merrymakings in my time:?The reckoning seldom came till the morrow's morn.?But, Jim, my