The Fifth Series Plays | Page 3

take things up lightly.
MAYOR. Dangerous times, these. Authority questioned all over the
place. We want a man that feels his responsibilities, and we think we've
got him in you.
BUILDER. Very good of you, Mayor. I don't know, I'm sure. I must
think of the good of the town.
HARRIS. I shouldn't worry about that, sir.
MAYOR. The name John Builder carries weight. You're looked up to
as a man who can manage his own affairs. Madam and the young ladies
well?
BUILDER. First-rate.
MAYOR. [Rises] That's right. Well, if you'd like to talk it over with
Chantrey to-morrow. With all this extremism, we want a man of
principle and common sense.
HARRIS. We want a man that'll grasp the nettle, sir--and that's you.
BUILDER. Hm! I've got a temper, you know.
MAYOR. [Chuckling] We do--we do! You'll say "yes," I see. No false
modesty! Come along, 'Arris, we must go.
BUILDER. Well, Mayor, I'll think it over, and let you have an answer.

You know my faults, and you know my qualities, such as they are. I'm
just a plain Englishman.
MAYOR. We don't want anything better than that. I always say the
great point about an Englishman is that he's got bottom; you may knock
him off his pins, but you find him on 'em again before you can say
"Jack Robinson." He may have his moments of aberration, but he's a
sticker. Morning, Builder, morning! Hope you'll say "yes."
He shakes hands and goes out, followed by HARRIS.
When the door is dosed BUILDER stands a moment quite still with a
gratified smile on his face; then turns and scrutinises himself in the
glass over the hearth. While he is doing so the door from the
dining-room is opened quietly and CAMILLE comes in. BUILDER,
suddenly seeing her reflected in the mirror, turns.
BUILDER. What is it, Camille?
CAMILLE. Madame send me for a letter she say you have, Monsieur,
from the dyer and cleaner, with a bill.
BUILDER. [Feeling in his pockets] Yes--no. It's on the table.
CAMILLE goes to the writing-table and looks. That blue thing.
CAMILLE. [Taking it up] Non, Monsieur, this is from the gas.
BUILDER. Oh! Ah! [He moves up to the table and turns over papers.
CAMILLE stands motionless close by with her eyes fixed on him.]
Here it is! [He looks up, sees her looking at him, drops his own gaze,
and hands her the letter. Their hands touch. Putting his hands in his
pockets] What made you come to England?
CAMILLE. [Demure] It is better pay, Monsieur, and [With a smile] the
English are so amiable.
BUILDER. Deuce they are! They haven't got that reputation.
CAMILLE. Oh! I admire Englishmen. They are so strong and kind.
BUILDER. [Bluffly flattered] H'm! We've no manners.
CAMILLE. The Frenchman is more polite, but not in the 'eart.
BUILDER. Yes. I suppose we're pretty sound at heart.
CAMILLE. And the Englishman have his life in the family--the
Frenchman have his life outside.
BUILDER. [With discomfort] H'm!
CAMILLE. [With a look] Too mooch in the family--like a rabbit in a
'utch.
BUILDER. Oh! So that's your view of us! [His eyes rest on her,

attracted but resentful].
CAMILLE. Pardon, Monsieur, my tongue run away with me.
BUILDER. [Half conscious of being led on] Are you from Paris?
CAMILLE. [Clasping her hands] Yes. What a town for pleasure--Paris!
BUILDER. I suppose so. Loose place, Paris.
CAMILLE. Loose? What is that, Monsieur?
BUILDER. The opposite of strict.
CAMILLE. Strict! Oh! certainly we like life, we other French. It is not
like England. I take this to Madame, Monsieur. [She turns as if to go]
Excuse me.
BUILDER. I thought you Frenchwomen all married young.
CAMILLE. I 'ave been married; my 'usband did die--en Afrique.
BUILDER. You wear no ring.
CAMILLE. [Smiling] I prefare to be mademoiselle, Monsieur.
BUILDER. [Dubiously] Well, it's all the same to us. [He takes a letter
up from the table] You might take this to Mrs Builder too. [Again their
fingers touch, and there is a suspicion of encounter between their eyes.]
CAMILLE goes out.
BUILDER. [Turning to his chair] Don't know about that woman--she's
a tantalizer.
He compresses his lips, and is settling back into his chair, when the
door from the hall is opened and his daughter MAUD comes in; a
pretty girl, rather pale, with fine eyes. Though her face has a
determined cast her manner at this moment is by no means decisive.
She has a letter in her hand, and advances rather as if she were stalking
her father, who, after a "Hallo, Maud!" has begun to read his paper.
MAUD. [Getting as far as the table] Father.
BUILDER. [Not lowering the paper] Well? I know that tone. What do
you want--money?
MAUD. I always want money, of