One Day More | Page 8

see how it is. You get round them with your
soft speeches, your promises, and then...
Harry (Violently). Never!
Bessie (Startled, steps back). Ah--you never. . .
Harry (Calm). Never yet told a lie to a woman.
Bessie. What lie?
Harry. Why, the lie that comes glib to a man's tongue. None of that for
me. I leave the sneaking off to them soft-spoken chaps you're thinking
of. No! If you love me you take me. And if you take me--why, then, the
capstan-song of deep-water ships is sure to settle it all some fine day.
Bessie (After a short pause, with effort). It's like your ships, then.
Harry (Amused). Exactly, up to now. Or else I wouldn't be here in a
silly fix.
Bessie (Assumed indifference). Perhaps it's because you've never yet
met------- (Voice fails.)
Harry (Negligently). Maybe. And perhaps never shall.... What's the
odds? It's the looking for a thing.... No matter. I love them all--ships
and women. The scrapes they got me into, and the scrapes they got me
out of--my word! I say, Miss Bessie, what are you thinking of?
Bessie (Lifts her head). That you are supposed never to tell a lie.

Harry. Never, eh? You wouldn't be that hard on a chap.
Bessie (Recklessly). Never to a woman, I mean.
Harry. Well, no. (Serious.) Never anything that matters. (Aside.) I don't
seem to get any nearer to my railway fare. (_Leans wearily against the
lamppost with a far-off look. B. looks at him_.)
Bessie. Now what are you thinking of?
Harry (Turns his head; stares at B.). Well, I was thinking what a fine
figure of a girl you are.
Bessie (Looks away a moment). Is that true, or is it only one of them
that don't matter?
Harry (Laughing a little). No! no! That's true. Haven't you ever been
told that before? The men...
Bessie. I hardly speak to a soul from year's end to year's end. Father's
blind. He don't like strangers, and he can't bear to think of me out of his
call. Nobody comes near us much.
Harry (Absent-minded). Blind--ah! of course.
Bessie. For years and years . . .
Harry (Commiserating). For years and years. In one of them hutches.
You are a good daughter. (Brightening up.) A fine girl altogether. You
seem the sort that makes a good chum to a man in a fix. And there's not
a man in this whole town who found you out? I can hardly credit it,
Miss Bessie. (B. shakes her head.) Man I said! (Contemptuous.) A lot
of tame rabbits in hutches I call them.... (Breaks off.) I say, when's the
last train up to London? Can you tell me?
Bessie (Gazes at him steadily). What for? You've no money.
Harry. That's just it. (Leans back against post again.) Hard luck.
(Insinuating.) But there was never a time in all my travels that a woman

of the right sort did not turn up to help me out of a fix. I don't know
why. It's perhaps because they know without telling that I love them all.
(Playful.) I've almost fallen in love with you, Miss Bessie.
Bessie (Unsteady laugh). Why! How you talk! You haven't even seen
my face properly. (One step towards H., as if compelled.)
Harry (Bending forward gallantly). A little pale. It suits some. (Puts out
his hand, catches hold of B.'s arm. Draws her to him.) Let's see.... Yes,
it suits you. (_It's a moment before B. puts up her hands, palms out, and
turns away her head_.)
Bessie (Whispering). Don't. (_Struggles a little. Released, stands
averted_.)
Harry. No offence. (_Stands, back to audience, looking at H.'s
cottage_.)
Bessie (Alone in front; faces audience; whispers). My voice--my
figure--my heart--my face....
(_A silence. B. 's face gradually lights up. Directly H. speaks,
expression of hopeful attention_.)
Harry (From railings). The old man seems to have gone to sleep
waiting for that to-morrow of his.
Bessie. Come away. He sleeps very little.
Harry (Strolls down). He has taken an everlasting jamming hitch round
the whole business. (Vexed.) Cast it loose who may. (_Contemptuous
exclamation_.) To-morrow. Pooh! It'll be just another mad today.
Bessie. It's the brooding over his hope that's done it. People teased him
so. It's his fondness for you that's troubled his mind.
Harry. Aye. A confounded shovel on the head. The old man had always
a queer way of showing his fondness for me.

Bessie. A hopeful, troubled, expecting old man--left alone--all alone.
Harry (Lower tone). Did he ever tell you what mother died of?
Bessie. Yes. (A little bitter.) From impatience.
Harry (Makes a gesture with his arm; speaks vaguely but with feeling).
I believe you have been very good to my old man....
Bessie (Tentative). Wouldn't you try to be a son to him?
Harry (Angrily).