The Complete Plays | Page 2

it up.] I'm not drunk [Subsiding on a sofa.] Tha's all right. Wha's
your name? My name's Barthwick, so's my father's; I'm a Liberal
too--wha're you?
JONES. [In a thick, sardonic voice.] I'm a bloomin' Conservative. My
name's Jones! My wife works 'ere; she's the char; she works 'ere.
JACK. Jones? [He laughs.] There's 'nother Jones at College with me.
I'm not a Socialist myself; I'm a Liberal--there's ve--lill difference,
because of the principles of the Lib--Liberal Party. We're all equal
before the law--tha's rot, tha's silly. [Laughs.] Wha' was I about to say?
Give me some whisky.

[JONES gives him the whisky he desires, together with a squirt of
syphon.]
Wha' I was goin' tell you was--I 've had a row with her. [He waves the
reticule.] Have a drink, Jonessh 'd never have got in without you--tha 's
why I 'm giving you a drink. Don' care who knows I've scored her off.
Th' cat! [He throws his feet up on the sofa.] Don' you make a noise,
whatever you do. You pour out a drink--you make yourself good long,
long drink--you take cigarette--you take anything you like. Sh'd never
have got in without you. [Closing his eyes.] You're a Tory--you're a
Tory Socialist. I'm Liberal myself--have a drink--I 'm an excel'nt chap.
[His head drops back. He, smiling, falls asleep, and JONES stands
looking at him; then, snatching up JACK's glass, he drinks it off. He
picks the reticule from off JACK'S shirt-front, holds it to the light, and
smells at it.]
JONES. Been on the tiles and brought 'ome some of yer cat's fur. [He
stuffs it into JACK's breast pocket.]
JACK. [Murmuring.] I 've scored you off! You cat!
[JONES looks around him furtively; he pours out whisky and drinks it.
From the silver box he takes a cigarette, puffs at it, and drinks more
whisky. There is no sobriety left in him.]
JONES. Fat lot o' things they've got 'ere! [He sees the crimson purse
lying on the floor.] More cat's fur. Puss, puss! [He fingers it, drops it on
the tray, and looks at JACK.] Calf! Fat calf! [He sees his own
presentment in a mirror. Lifting his hands, with fingers spread, he
stares at it; then looks again at JACK, clenching his fist as if to batter in
his sleeping, smiling face. Suddenly he tilts the rest o f the whisky into
the glass and drinks it. With cunning glee he takes the silver box and
purse and pockets them.] I 'll score you off too, that 's wot I 'll do!
[He gives a little snarling laugh and lurches to the door. His shoulder
rubs against the switch; the light goes out. There is a sound as of a
closing outer door.]

The curtain falls.

The curtain rises again at once.
SCENE II
In the BARTHWICK'S dining-room. JACK is still asleep; the morning
light is coming through the curtains. The time is half-past eight.
WHEELER, brisk person enters with a dust-pan, and MRS. JONES
more slowly with a scuttle.
WHEELER. [Drawing the curtains.] That precious husband of yours
was round for you after you'd gone yesterday, Mrs. Jones. Wanted your
money for drink, I suppose. He hangs about the corner here half the
time. I saw him outside the "Goat and Bells" when I went to the post
last night. If I were you I would n't live with him. I would n't live with a
man that raised his hand to me. I wouldn't put up with it. Why don't you
take your children and leave him? If you put up with 'im it'll only make
him worse. I never can see why, because a man's married you, he
should knock you about.
MRS. JONES. [Slim, dark-eyed, and dark-haired; oval-faced, and with
a smooth, soft, even voice; her manner patient, her way of talking quite
impersonal; she wears a blue linen dress, and boots with holes.] It was
nearly two last night before he come home, and he wasn't himself. He
made me get up, and he knocked me about; he didn't seem to know
what he was saying or doing. Of course I would leave him, but I'm
really afraid of what he'd do to me. He 's such a violent man when he's
not himself.
WHEELER. Why don't you get him locked up? You'll never have any
peace until you get him locked up. If I were you I'd go to the police
court tomorrow. That's what I would do.
MRS. JONES. Of course I ought to go, because he does treat me so
badly when he's not himself. But you see, Bettina, he has a very hard
time--he 's been out of work two months, and it preys upon his mind.

When he's in work he behaves himself much