The Mob | Page 6

speech! Think of Katherine--with the
Dad at the War Office, and me going out, and Ralph and old George
out there already! You can't trust your tongue when you're hot about a
thing.
MORE. I must speak, Hubert.
HUBERT. No, no! Bottle yourself up for to-night. The next few hours
'll see it begin. [MORE turns from him] If you don't care whether you

mess up your own career--don't tear Katherine in two!
MORE. You're not shirking your duty because of your wife.
HUBERT. Well! You're riding for a fall, and a godless mucker it'll be.
This'll be no picnic. We shall get some nasty knocks out there. Wait
and see the feeling here when we've had a force or two cut up in those
mountains. It's awful country. Those fellows have got modern arms,
and are jolly good fighters. Do drop it, Stephen!
MORE. Must risk something, sometimes, Hubert--even in my
profession!
[As he speaks, KATHERINE comes in.]
HUBERT. But it's hopeless, my dear chap--absolutely.
[MORE turns to the window, HUBERT to his sister--then with a
gesture towards MORE, as though to leave the matter to her, he goes
out.]
KATHERINE. Stephen! Are you really going to speak? [He nods] I ask
you not.
MORE. You know my feeling.
KATHERINE. But it's our own country. We can't stand apart from it.
You won't stop anything--only make people hate you. I can't bear that.
MORE. I tell you, Kit, some one must raise a voice. Two or three
reverses--certain to come--and the whole country will go wild. And one
more little nation will cease to live.
KATHERINE. If you believe in your country, you must believe that the
more land and power she has, the better for the world.
MORE. Is that your faith?
KATHERINE. Yes.
MORE. I respect it; I even understand it; but--I can't hold it.
KATHERINE. But, Stephen, your speech will be a rallying cry to all
the cranks, and every one who has a spite against the country. They'll
make you their figurehead. [MORE smiles] They will. Your chance of
the Cabinet will go--you may even have to resign your seat.
MORE. Dogs will bark. These things soon blow over.
KATHERINE. No, no! If you once begin a thing, you always go on;
and what earthly good?
MORE. History won't say: "And this they did without a single protest
from their public men!"
KATHERINE. There are plenty who----

MORE. Poets?
KATHERINE. Do you remember that day on our honeymoon, going up
Ben Lawers? You were lying on your face in the heather; you said it
was like kissing a loved woman. There was a lark singing--you said
that was the voice of one's worship. The hills were very blue; that's why
we had blue here, because it was the best dress of our country. You do
love her.
MORE. Love her!
KATHERINE. You'd have done this for me--then.
MORE. Would you have asked me--then, Kit?
KATHERINE. Yes. The country's our country! Oh! Stephen, think
what it'll be like for me--with Hubert and the other boys out there. And
poor Helen, and Father! I beg you not to make this speech.
MORE. Kit! This isn't fair. Do you want me to feel myself a cur?
KATHERINE. [Breathless] I--I--almost feel you'll be a cur to do it [She
looks at him, frightened by her own words. Then, as the footman
HENRY has come in to clear the table--very low] I ask you not!
[He does not answer, and she goes out.]
MORE [To the servant] Later, please, Henry, later!
The servant retires. MORE still stands looking down at the dining-table;
then putting his hand to his throat, as if to free it from the grip of his
collar, he pours out a glass of water, and drinks it of. In the street,
outside the bay window, two street musicians, a harp and a violin, have
taken up their stand, and after some twangs and scrapes, break into
music. MORE goes towards the sound, and draws aside one curtain.
After a moment, he returns to the table, and takes up the notes of the
speech. He is in an agony of indecision.
MORE. A cur!
He seems about to tear his notes across. Then, changing his mind, turns
them over and over, muttering. His voice gradually grows louder, till he
is declaiming to the empty room the peroration of his speech.
MORE. . . . We have arrogated to our land the title Champion of
Freedom, Foe of Oppression. Is that indeed a bygone glory? Is it not
worth some sacrifice of our pettier dignity, to avoid laying another
stone upon its grave; to avoid placing before the searchlight eyes of
History the spectacle of yet one more piece of national cynicism? We
are about to force our will and our