One Day More | Page 2

trouble means. And the boy--the man, I should say--must 've been
put away safe in Davy Jones's locker for many a year--drowned--food
for fishes--dead.... Stands to reason, or he would have been here before,
smelling around the old fool's money. (Shakes Bessie's arm slightly.)
Hey?
Bessie. I don't know. May be.
Carvil (Bursting out). Damme if I don't think he ever had a son.

Bessie. Poor man. Perhaps he never had.
Carvil. Ain't that mad enough for you? But I suppose you think it
sensible.
Bessie. What does it matter? His talk keeps him up.
Carvil. Aye! And it pleases you. Anything to get away from your poor
blind father.... Jabber, jabber--mumble, mumble--till I begin to think
you must be as crazy as he is. What do you find to talk about, you two?
What's your game?
(_During the scene Carvil and Bessie have crossed stage from L. to R.
slowly with stoppages_.)
Bessie. It's warm. Will you sit out for a while?
Carvil (Viciously). Yes, I will sit out. (Insistent.) But what can be your
game? What are you up to? (They pass through garden gate.) Because
if it's his money you are after-------
Bessie. Father! How can you!
Carvil (Disregarding her). To make you independent of your poor
blind father, then you are a fool. (Drops heavily on seat.) He's too much
of a miser to ever make a will--even if he weren't mad.
Bessie. Oh! It never entered my head. I swear it never did.
Carvil. Never did. Hey! Then you are a still bigger fool.... I want to go
to sleep! (_Takes off' his hat, drops it on ground, and leans his head
back against the wall_.)
Bessie. And I have been a good daughter to you. Won't you say that for
me?
Carvil (Very distinctly). I want--to--go--to--sleep. I'm tired. (Closes his
eyes.)

(_During that scene Captain Hagberd has been seen hesitating at the
back of stage, then running quickly to the door of his cottage. He puts
inside a tin kettle (from under his coat) and comes down to the railing
between the two gardens stealthily_).

SCENE II.
_Carvil seated. Bessie. Captain Hagberd (white beard, sail-cloth
jacket_).
Bessie (Knitting). You've been out this afternoon for quite a long time,
haven't you?
Capt. Hagberd (Eager). Yes, my dear. (Slily) Of course you saw me
come back.
Bessie. Oh, yes. I did see you. You had something under your coat.
Capt. H. (Anxiously). It was only a kettle, my dear. A tin water-kettle. I
am glad I thought of it just in time. (Winks, nods.) When a husband gets
back from his work he needs a lot of water for a wash. See? (Dignified.)
Not that Harry'll ever need to do a hand's turn after he comes home...
(_Falters--casts stealthy glances on all sides_).... tomorrow.
Bessie (Looks up, grave). Captain Hagberd, have you ever thought that
perhaps your son will not. . .
Capt. H. (Paternally). I've thought of everything, my dear--of
everything a reasonable young couple may need for housekeeping.
Why, I can hardly turn about in my room up there, the house is that full.
(Rubs his hands with satisfaction.) For my son Harry--when he comes
home. One day more.
Bessie (Flattering). Oh, you are a great one for bargains. (_Captain
Hagberd delighted_.) But, Captain Hagberd--if--if--you don't know
what may happen--if all that home you've got together were to be
wasted--for nothing--after all. (Aside.) Oh, I can't bring it out.

Capt. H. (Agitated; flings arms up, stamps feet; stuttering). What?
What d'ye mean? What's going to happen to the things?
Bessie (Soothing). Nothing! Nothing! Dust--or moth--you know. Damp,
perhaps. You never let anyone into the house . . .
Capt. H. Dust! Damp! (Has a throaty, gurgling laugh.) I light the fires
and dust the things myself. (Indignant.) Let anyone into the house,
indeed! What would Harry say! (_Walks up and down his garden
hastily with tosses, jings, and jerks of his whole body_.)
Bessie (With authority.) Now, then, Captain Hagberd! You know I
won't put up with your tantrums. (Shakes finger at him.)
Capt. H. (Subdued, but still sulky, with his back to her). You want to
see the things. That's what you're after. Well, no, not even you. Not till
Harry has had his first look.
Bessie. Oh, no! I don't. (Relenting.) Not till you're willing. (Smiles at
Capt. H., who has turned half round already!) You mustn't excite
yourself. (Knits.)
Capt. H. (Condescending). And you the only sensible girl for miles and
miles around. Can't you trust me? I am a domestic man. Always was,
my dear. I hated the sea. People don't know what they let their boys
into when they send them to sea. As soon make convicts of them at
once. What sort of life is it? Most of your time