One Day More

One Day More

The Project Gutenberg EBook of One Day More, by Joseph Conrad
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Title: One Day More A Play In One Act
Author: Joseph Conrad
Release Date: January 29, 2006 [EBook #17621]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONE DAY
MORE ***

Produced by David Widger

This is the sixth book issued by the Beaumont Press 24 copies (four of
which are not for sale) have been printed on Japanese vellum signed by
the author and numbered 1 to 24 and 250 copies on hand-made paper
numbered 25 to 274 This is No. 46

ONE DAY MORE
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
BY JOSEPH CONRAD

CHARACTERS
Captain Hagberd (a retired coasting skipper).
Josiah Carvil (formerly a shipbuilder--a widower--blind).
Harry Hagberd (son of Captain Hagberd, who as a boy ran away from
home).
A Lamplighter.
Bessie Carvil (daughter of Josiah Carvil).

SCENE
A small sea port.
To rights two yellow brick cottages belonging to Captain Hagberd, one
inhabited by himself the other by the Carvils. A lamp-post in front. The
red roofs of the town in the background. A sea-wall to left.
Time: The present-early autumn, towards dusk.
ONE DAY MORE
SCENE I.
CURTAIN RISES DISCLOSING CARVIL _and Bessie moving away
from sea-wall. Bessie about twenty-five. Black dress; black straw hat.
A lot of mahogany-coloured hair loosely done up. Pale face. Full figure.

Very quiet. Carvil, blind, unwieldy. Reddish whiskers; slow, deep
voice produced without effort. Immovable, big face._
Carvil (Hanging heavily on Bessie's arm). Careful! Go slow! (_Stops;
Bessie waits patiently_.) Want your poor blind father to break his neck?
(Shuffles on.) In a hurry to get home and start that everlasting yarn with
your chum the lunatic?
Bessie. I am not in a hurry to get home, father.
Carvil. Well, then, go steady with a poor blind man. Blind! Helpless!
(Strikes the ground with his stick.) Never mind! I've had time to make
enough money to have ham and eggs for breakfast every
morning--thank God! And thank God, too, for it, girl. You haven't
known a single hardship in all the days of your idle life. Unless you
think that a blind, helpless father-------
Bessie. What is there for me to be in a hurry for?
Carvil. What did you say?
Bessie. I said there was nothing for me to hurry home for.
Carvil. There is, tho'. To yarn with a lunatic. Anything to get away
from your duty.
Bessie. Captain Hagberd's talk never hurt you or anybody else.
Carvil. Go on. Stick up for your only friend.
Bessie. Is it my fault that I haven't another soul to speak to?
Carvil (Snarls). It's mine, perhaps. Can I help being blind? You fret
because you want to be gadding about--with a helpless man left all
alone at home. Your own father too.
Bessie. I haven't been away from you half a day since mother died.
Carvil (Viciously). He's a lunatic, our landlord is. That's what he is. Has

been for years--long before those damned doctors destroyed my sight
for me. (Growls angrily, then sighs.)
Bessie. Perhaps Captain Hagberd is not so mad as the town takes him
for.
Carvil. (Grimly). Don't everybody know how he came here from the
North to wait till his missing son turns up--here--of all places in the
world. His boy that ran away to sea sixteen years ago and never did
give a sign of life since! Don't I remember seeing people dodge round
corners out of his way when he came along High Street. Seeing him, I
tell you. (Groan.) He bothered everybody so with his silly talk of his
son being sure to come back home--next year--next spring--next
month------. What is it by this time, hey?
Bessie. Why talk about it? He bothers no one now.
Carvil. No. They've grown too fly. You've got only to pass a remark on
his sail-cloth coat to make him shut up. All the town knows it. But he's
got you to listen to his crazy talk whenever he chooses. Don't I hear
you two at it, jabber, jabber, mumble, mumble------
Bessie. What is there so mad in keeping up hope?
Carvil (Scathing scorn). Not mad! Starving himself to lay money
by--for that son. Filling his house with furniture he won't let anyone
see--for that son. Advertising in the papers every week, these sixteen
years--for that son. Not mad! Boy, he calls him. Boy Harry. His boy
Harry. His lost boy Harry. Yah! Let him lose his sight to know what
real