The First Series Plays | Page 5

Jack's again. "High Street, Oxford. Sir, We have
received Mr. John Barthwick, Senior's, draft for forty pounds!" Oh! the
letter's to him! "We now enclose the cheque you cashed with us, which,
as we stated in our previous letter, was not met on presentation at your
bank. We are, Sir, yours obediently, Moss and Sons, Tailors." H 'm!
[Staring at the cheque.] A pretty business altogether! The boy might
have been prosecuted.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Come, John, you know Jack did n't mean
anything; he only thought he was overdrawing. I still think his bank
ought to have cashed that cheque. They must know your position.
BARTHWICK. [Replacing in the envelope the letter and the cheque.]
Much good that would have done him in a court of law.
[He stops as JACK comes in, fastening his waistcoat and staunching a
razor cut upon his chin.]
JACK. [Sitting down between them, and speaking with an artificial
joviality.] Sorry I 'm late. [He looks lugubriously at the dishes.] Tea,
please, mother. Any letters for me? [BARTHWICK hands the letter to
him.] But look here, I say, this has been opened! I do wish you would
n't----
BARTHWICK. [Touching the envelope.] I suppose I 'm entitled to this
name.
JACK. [Sulkily.] Well, I can't help having your name, father! [He reads
the letter, and mutters.] Brutes!
BARTHWICK. [Eyeing him.] You don't deserve to be so well out of
that.
JACK. Haven't you ragged me enough, dad?
MRS. BARTHWICK. Yes, John, let Jack have his breakfast.
BARTHWICK. If you hadn't had me to come to, where would you
have been? It's the merest accident--suppose you had been the son of a

poor man or a clerk. Obtaining money with a cheque you knew your
bank could not meet. It might have ruined you for life. I can't see what's
to become of you if these are your principles. I never did anything of
the sort myself.
JACK. I expect you always had lots of money. If you've got plenty of
money, of course----
BARTHWICK. On the contrary, I had not your advantages. My father
kept me very short of money.
JACK. How much had you, dad?
BARTHWICK. It's not material. The question is, do you feel the
gravity of what you did?
JACK. I don't know about the gravity. Of course, I 'm very sorry if you
think it was wrong. Have n't I said so! I should never have done it at all
if I had n't been so jolly hard up.
BARTHWICK. How much of that forty pounds have you got left,
Jack?
JACK. [Hesitating.] I don't know--not much.
BARTHWICK. How much?
JACK. [Desperately.] I have n't got any.
BARTHWICK. What?
JACK. I know I 've got the most beastly headache.
[He leans his head on his hand.]
MRS. BARTHWICK. Headache? My dear boy! Can't you eat any
breakfast?
JACK. [Drawing in his breath.] Too jolly bad!
MRS. BARTHWICK. I'm so sorry. Come with me; dear; I'll give you
something that will take it away at once.
[They leave the room; and BARTHWICK, tearing up the letter, goes to
the fireplace and puts the pieces in the fire. While he is doing this
MARLOW comes in, and looking round him, is about quietly to
withdraw.]
BARTHWICK. What's that? What d 'you want?
MARLOW. I was looking for Mr. John, sir.
BARTHWICK. What d' you want Mr. John for?
MARLOW. [With hesitation.] I thought I should find him here, sir.
BARTHWICK. [Suspiciously.] Yes, but what do you want him for?
MARLOW. [Offhandedly.] There's a lady called--asked to speak to

him for a minute, sir.
BARTHWICK. A lady, at this time in the morning. What sort of a
lady?
MARLOW. [Without expression in his voice.] I can't tell, sir; no
particular sort. She might be after charity. She might be a Sister of
Mercy, I should think, sir.
BARTHWICK. Is she dressed like one?
MARLOW. No, sir, she's in plain clothes, sir.
BARTHWICK. Did n't she say what she wanted?
MARLOW. No sir.
BARTHWICK. Where did you leave her?
MARLOW. In the hall, sir.
BARTHWICK. In the hall? How do you know she's not a thief--not got
designs on the house?
MARLOW. No, sir, I don't fancy so, sir.
BARTHWICK. Well, show her in here; I'll see her myself.
[MARLOW goes out with a private gesture of dismay. He soon returns,
ushering in a young pale lady with dark eyes and pretty figure, in a
modish, black, but rather shabby dress, a black and white trimmed hat
with a bunch of Parma violets wrongly placed, and fuzzy-spotted veil.
At the Sight of MR. BARTHWICK she exhibits every sign of
nervousness. MARLOW goes out.]
UNKNOWN LADY. Oh! but--I beg pardon there's some mistake--I
[She turns to fly.]
BARTHWICK. Whom did you want to see, madam?
UNKNOWN. [Stopping and