One Day More | Page 4

they don't come this way staring and grinning. I can't bear them. I'll never go again into that High Street. (Agitated.) Never, never, never. Won't need to after to-morrow. Never! (Flings down spade in passion.)
(_While Hagberd speaks, the bow window of the Carvils is lit up, and Bessie is seen settling her father in a big armchair. Pulls down blind. Enter Lamplighter. Capt. H. picks up the spade and leans forward on it with both hands; very still, watching him light the lamp_.)
Lamplighter (Jocular). There! You will be able to dig by lamplight if the fancy takes you.
(Exit Lamplighter to back.)
Capt. H. (Disgusted). Ough! The people here. . . (Shudders.)
Lamplighter's Voice (Heard loudly beyond the cottages). Yes, that's the way.
(Enter Harry from back.)

SCENE III.
(Capt. H. Harry. Later Bessie).
Harry Hagberd (_thirty-one, tall, broad shoulders, shaven face, small moustache. Blue serge suit. Coat open. Grey flannel shirt without collar and tie. No waistcoat. Belt with buckle. Black, soft felt hat, wide-brimmed, worn crushed in the crown and a little on one side. Good nature, recklessness, some swagger in the bearing. Assured, deliberate walk with a heavy tread. Slight roll in the gait. Walks down. Stops, hands in pockets. Looks about. Speaks_.) This must be it. Can't see anything beyond. There's somebody. (Walks up to Capt. Hagberd's gate?) Can you tell me... (Manner changes. Leans elbow on gate?) Why, you must be Capt. Hagberd himself.
Capt. H. (In garden, both hands on spade, peering, startled). Yes, I am.
Harry (Slowly). You've been advertising in the papers for your son, I believe.
Capt. H. (Off his guard, nervous). Yes. My only boy Harry. He's coming home to-morrow. (Mumbles.) For a permanent stay.
Harry (Surprised). The devil he is! (Change of tone?) My word! You've grown a beard like Father Christmas himself.
Capt. H. (Impressively). Go your way. (Waves one hand loftily?) What's that to you. Go your way. (Agitated?) Go your way.
Harry. There, there. I am not trespassing in the street--where I stand--am I? Tell you what, I fancy there's something wrong about your news. Suppose you let me come in--for a quiet chat, you know.
Capt. H. (Horrified). Let you--you come in!
Harry (Persuasive). Because I could give you some real information about your son. The--very--latest--tip. If you care to hear.
Capt. H. (Explodes). No! I don't care to hear. (_Begins to pace to and fro, spade on shoulder. Gesticulating with his other arm_.) Here's a fellow--a grinning town fellow, who says there's something wrong. (Fiercely.) I have got more information than you're aware of. I have all the information I want. I have had it for years--for years--for years--enough to last me till to-morrow! Let you come in, indeed! What would Harry say?
(_Bessie Carvil appears at cottage door with a white wrap on her head and stands in her garden trying to see_).
Bessie. What's the matter?
Capt. H. (Beside himself). An information fellow. (Stumbles.)
Harry (Putting out arm to steady him, gravely). Here! Steady a bit! Seems to me somebody's been trying to get at you. (Change of tone.) Hullo! What's this rig you've got on?... Storm canvas coat, by George! (He gives a frig, throaty laugh.) Well! You are a character!
Capt. H. (Daunted by the allusion, looks at coat). I--I wear it for--for the time being. Till--till--to-morrow. (_Shrinks away, spade in hand, to door of his cottage_.)
Bessie (Advancing). And what may you want, sir?
Harry (Turns to Bessie at once; easy manner). I'd like to know about this swindle that's going to be sprung on him. I didn't mean to startle the old man. You see, on my way here I dropped into a barber's to get a twopenny shave, and they told me there that he was something of a character. He has been a character all his life.
Bessie (Wondering). What swindle?
Capt. H. A grinning fellow! (_Makes sudden dash indoors with the spade. Door slams. Affected gurgling laugh within_.)

SCENE IV.
(Bessie and Harry. Later Capt. H. from window).
Harry (After a short silence). What on earth's upset him so? What's the meaning of all this fuss? He isn't always like that, is he?
Bessie. I don't know who you are; but I may tell you that his mind has been troubled for years about an only son who ran away from home--a long time ago. Everybody knows that here.
Harry (Thoughtful). Troubled--for years! (Suddenly.) Well, I am the son.
Bessie (Steps back). You! . .. Harry!
Harry (Amused, dry tone). Got hold of my name, eh? Been making friends with the old man?
Bessie (Distressed). Yes... I... sometimes. . . (Rapidly!) He's our landlord.
Harry (Scornfully). Owns both them rabbit hutches, does he? Just a thing he'd be proud of... (Earnest.) And now you had better tell me all about that chap who's coming to-morrow. Know anything of him? I reckon there's more than one in that little game. Come! Out with it! (Chaffing.) I don't take no... from