The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays | Page 5

the lot o' ye, but I'm no' gaein' to gie in to--
JOHN (_bringing a fresh mind to bear upon the argument_). Efter a',
Lizzie, there's nae harm--
LIZZIE (_almost with a scream of anger_). Och, now you've stairted,

have you? Harm. Harm. Harm. You're talkin' about harm, and I'm
talking about richt an' wrang. You'd see your son grow up a drunken
keelie, an' mebbe a thief an' a murderer, so long as you could say there
was nae harm in it.
DAVID (_expostulating with some cause_). But I cudna say there was
nae harm in that, Lizzie, an' I wudna. Only when there's nae harm--
LIZZIE. Och. (_Exits, calling off to the cause of the trouble._) Are ye
in yer bed yet, Alexander?
(_Shuts door with a click._)
DAVID (_standing on hearth-rug and shaking his head more in sorrow
than in anger_). She's no reasonable, ye ken, John; she disna argue fair.
I'm no complaining o' her mither, but it's a wee thing hard that the only
twa women I've known to be really chatty an' argumentative with
should ha' been just like that. An' me that fond o' women's society.
(_He lowers himself into his chair._)
JOHN. They're all like it.
DAVID (_judiciously_). I wudna go sae far as to say that, John. Ye see,
I've only kent they twa to study carefully--an' it's no fair to judge the
whole sex by just the twa examples, an' it were--(_Running on_) But
it's gey hard, an' I was wantin' to tell wee Alexander a special fine story
the nicht. (_Removes glasses and blinks his eyes._) Aweel.
JOHN (_comforting_). Mebbe the morn--
DAVID. If it's no richt the nicht, it'll no be richt the morn's nicht.
JOHN. Ye canna say that, feyther. It wasna wrang last nicht.
DAVID (_bitterly_). Mebbe it was, an' Lizzie had no' foun' it out.
JOHN. Aw, noo, feyther, dinna get saurcastic.

DAVID (_between anger and tears, weakly_). I canna help it. I'm black
affrontit. I was wantin' to tell wee Alexander a special fine story the
nicht, an' now here's Lizzie wi' her richt's richt an' wrang's wrang--Och,
there's nae reason in the women.
JOHN. We has to gie in to them though.
DAVID. Aye. That's why.
(_There is a pause. The old man picks up his paper again and settles his
glasses on his nose. JOHN rises, and with a spill from the mantelpiece
lights the gas there, which he then bends to throw the light to the old
man's advantage._)
DAVID. Thank ye, John. Do ye hear him?
JOHN (_erect on hearth-rug_). Who?
DAVID. Wee Alexander.
JOHN. No.
DAVID. Greetin' his heart out.
JOHN. Och, he's no greetin'. Lizzie's wi' him.
DAVID. I ken fine Lizzie's wi' him, but he's greetin' for a' her. He was
wantin' to hear yon story o' the kelpies up to Cross Hill wi' the
tram--(_Breaking his mood impatiently_) Och.
JOHN (_crossing to table and lighting up there_). It's gettin' dark gey
early. We'll shin be haein' tea by the gas.
DAVID (_rustling his paper_). Aye--(_Suddenly_) There never was a
female philosopher, ye ken, John.
JOHN. Was there no'?
DAVID. No. (_Angrily, in a gust_) An'there never will be! (_Then

more calmly_) An' yet there's an' awful lot o' philosophy about women,
John.
JOHN. Aye?
DAVID. Och, aye. They're that unreasonable, an' yet ye canna reason
them down; an' they're that weak, an' yet ye canna make them gie in tae
ye. Of course, ye'll say ye canna reason doon a stane, or make a clod o'
earth gie in tae ye.
JOHN. Will I?
DAVID. Aye. An' ye'll be richt. But then I'll tell ye a stane will na
answer ye back, an' a clod of earth will na try to withstand ye, so how
can ye argue them down?
JOHN (_convinced_). Ye canna.
DAVID. Richt! Ye canna! But a wumman will answer ye back, an' she
will stand against ye, an' yet ye canna argue her down though ye have
strength an' reason on your side an' she's talkin' naething but blether
about richt's richt an' wrang's wrang, an' sendin' a poor bairn off t' his
bed i' the yin room an' leavin' her auld feyther all alone by the fire in
anither an'--ye ken--Philosophy--
(_He ceases to speak and wipes his glasses again. JOHN, intensely
troubled, tiptoes up to the door and opens it a foot. The wails of
ALEXANDER can be heard muffled by a farther door. JOHN calls
off._)
JOHN. Lizzie.
(_Lizzie immediately comes into sight outside the door with a
"Shsh."_)
JOHN. Yer feyther's greetin'.
LIZZIE (_with a touch of exasperation_). Och, I'm no heedin'! There's
another wean in there greetin' too, an' I'm no heedin' him neither, an'

he's greetin' twicet as loud as the auld yin.
JOHN (_shocked_). Ye're heartless, wumman.
LIZZIE (_with