The Mob | Page 4

JAMES HOME,
architect | CHARLES SHELDER, Solicitor |A deputation of More's
MARK WACE, bookseller |constituents WILLIAM BANNING,
manufacturer | NURSE WREFORD WREFORD (her son), Hubert's
orderly HIS SWEETHEART THE FOOTMAN HENRY A
DOORKEEPER SOME BLACK-COATED GENTLEMEN A

STUDENT A GIRL

A MOB
ACT I. The dining-room of More's town house, evening.
ACT II. The same, morning.
ACT III. SCENE I. An alley at the back of a suburban theatre. SCENE
II. Katherine's bedroom.
ACT IV. The dining-room of More's house, late afternoon.
AFTERMATH. The corner of a square, at dawn.

Between ACTS I and II some days elapse. Between ACTS II and III
three months. Between ACT III SCENE I and ACT III SCENE II no
time. Between ACTS III and IV a few hours. Between ACTS IV and
AFTERMATH an indefinite period.

ACT I
It is half-past nine of a July evening. In a dining-room lighted by
sconces, and apparelled in wall-paper, carpet, and curtains of deep
vivid blue, the large French windows between two columns are open on
to a wide terrace, beyond which are seen trees in darkness, and distant
shapes of lighted houses. On one side is a bay window, over which
curtains are partly drawn. Opposite to this window is a door leading
into the hall. At an oval rosewood table, set with silver, flowers, fruit,
and wine, six people are seated after dinner. Back to the bay window is
STEPHEN MORE, the host, a man of forty, with a fine-cut face, a
rather charming smile, and the eyes of an idealist; to his right, SIR,
JOHN JULIAN, an old soldier, with thin brown features, and grey
moustaches; to SIR JOHN's right, his brother, the DEAN OF STOUR,
a tall, dark, ascetic-looking Churchman: to his right KATHERINE is
leaning forward, her elbows on the table, and her chin on her hands,
staring across at her husband; to her right sits EDWARD MENDIP, a
pale man of forty-five, very bald, with a fine forehead, and on his
clear-cut lips a smile that shows his teeth; between him and MORE is
HELEN JULIAN, a pretty dark-haired young woman, absorbed in
thoughts of her own. The voices are tuned to the pitch of heated
discussion, as the curtain rises.

THE DEAN. I disagree with you, Stephen; absolutely, entirely
disagree.
MORE. I can't help it.
MENDIP. Remember a certain war, Stephen! Were your chivalrous
notions any good, then? And, what was winked at in an obscure young
Member is anathema for an Under Secretary of State. You can't
afford----
MORE. To follow my conscience? That's new, Mendip.
MENDIP. Idealism can be out of place, my friend.
THE DEAN. The Government is dealing here with a wild lawless race,
on whom I must say I think sentiment is rather wasted.
MORE. God made them, Dean.
MENDIP. I have my doubts.
THE DEAN. They have proved themselves faithless. We have the right
to chastise.
MORE. If I hit a little man in the eye, and he hits me back, have I the
right to chastise him?
SIR JOHN. We didn't begin this business.
MORE. What! With our missionaries and our trading?
THE DEAN. It is news indeed that the work of civilization may be
justifiably met by murder. Have you forgotten Glaive and Morlinson?
SIR JOHN. Yes. And that poor fellow Groome and his wife?
MORE. They went into a wild country, against the feeling of the tribes,
on their own business. What has the nation to do with the mishaps of
gamblers?
SIR JOHN. We can't stand by and see our own flesh and blood
ill-treated!
THE DEAN. Does our rule bring blessing--or does it not, Stephen?
MORE. Sometimes; but with all my soul I deny the fantastic
superstition that our rule can benefit a people like this, a nation of one
race, as different from ourselves as dark from light--in colour, religion,
every mortal thing. We can only pervert their natural instincts.
THE DEAN. That to me is an unintelligible point of view.
MENDIP. Go into that philosophy of yours a little deeper, Stephen-- it
spells stagnation. There are no fixed stars on this earth. Nations can't let
each other alone.
MORE. Big ones could let little ones alone.

MENDIP. If they could there'd be no big ones. My dear fellow, we
know little nations are your hobby, but surely office should have toned
you down.
SIR JOHN. I've served my country fifty years, and I say she is not in
the wrong.
MORE. I hope to serve her fifty, Sir John, and I say she is.
MENDIP. There are moments when such things can't be said, More.
MORE. They'll be said by me to-night, Mendip.
MENDIP. In the House?
[MORE nods.]
KATHERINE. Stephen!
MENDIP. Mrs. More, you mustn't let him. It's madness.
MORE. [Rising] You can tell people