The Servant in the House | Page 8

ROGERS goes
out immediately.]
MANSON. Sorry to have delayed, sir; but you said a quarter to nine,
didn't you, sir?
VICAR. Yes.
MANSON. Breakfasts served, ma'am. It's served, sir.
[They move to the table, absently, first one, then the other, as he goes
to each separately.]
[MANSON serves them in silence for a few moments.]
Beg pardon, sir: what time did you expect the Bishop of Benares?
VICAR. Oh!--During the morning, he said. That will mean the
twelve-thirty, I suppose. It's the only convenient service.
MANSON. And the Bishop of Lancashire, ma'am?
AUNTIE. He didn't say; but I think we may expect him by the same
train. He would scarcely think of catching the . . .
[There is heard a loud Ringing of the Bell--a bishop at the very least.
All three heads turn automatically.]
Good gracious! Already!
MANSON. It doesn't sound like the Bishop of Benares, ma'am. He
generally comes very quietly.
AUNTIE. Quick!
MANSON. Yes, ma'am.
[He goes out by the main door.]
AUNTIE [rapidly], William, I'm sorry! Really, I didn't mean you: I
never thought of you; I was only thinking of Robert. I only think of you

as a great scholar and a saint--yes, you are one!--and as the man I love!
I would sacrifice everything to your happiness. Robert's nothing to me;
that's why I . . . Think of what it might mean to Mary--we must think of
others, William!--our own little child, as we try to imagine . . .
[The VICAR makes a gesture of anguish.]
As for James, God knows I did it for the best. I love you, my dear, I
love you: I wouldn't have vexed you for the world! After all, he is my
brother, William! . . . . I thought of patching up the enmity between you:
I thought of all your hopes of rebuilding the church, and James was the
only rich man I thought might be induced--under the circumstances . . .
VICAR. I am in the darkness. I don't know what to do. God has left me
stranded.
[MANSON re-enters. They look at him inquiringly.]
MANSON. It isn't the Bishop of Benares, ma'am.
AUNTIE. Well, who is it?
MANSON. I didn't ask his name, ma'am.
AUNTIE. T-t-t! How is he dressed?
MANSON. Rather oddly, ma'am: I noticed that his legs . . .
AUNTIE. William, it's James! I can't be seen like this. Shew him in. I
can slip out this way.
[MANSON goes out.]
William, try and treat him like . . .
VICAR. How? Like a brother?
AUNTIE. I was going to say, like a Priest and a Christian, William.
VICAR. Like a Christian, then.
AUNTIE. My dear!
[She goes out by the door to the right, as MANSON begins to turn the
handle of the other door.]
MANSON [outside]. This way, if you please.
[The VICAR, braces himself up and turns towards the door with an
effort at cordiality.]
VICAR. Just in time for breakfast, my lord.
[Enter ROBERT SMITH and MANSON. ROBERT'S costume is a
navvy's, the knees tied With string.]
ROBERT [grimly]. Thanks, Bill Awlmighty, don't mind if I do. My
belly's fair aching.
VICAR. Robert!

ROBERT. Yus, it's me, my 'oly brother!
VICAR. Didn't you--didn't you get my wire?
ROBERT. Yus, I gorit-: Drains wrong, eh? Thought I'd like to 'av' a
look at 'em--my job, yer know, drains! So you'll excuse the togs:
remind you of old days, eh what?
VICAR. Robert, what have you come here for?
ROBERT. You arsk me that?
VICAR. Yes, I do. Bob . . .
ROBERT. Why, to see my little gel, o' course--Gawd curse you! . . .
Now go an tell your ole woman.
[The VICAR stands as though stricken.]
Did you 'ear me speak? Tell 'er!
[The VICAR wavers a moment, and then staggers out silently through
the door, right. ROBERT watches him off with a look of iron. He pays
no heed to MANSON, who stands quite close to him, on the left.]
See that blighter? That's the bloke as was born with no bowels! 'E
might a-made a man o' me once, if 'e'd tried; but 'e didn't--'im and 'is
like. Hm! Dam foolish, I call it, don't you?
MANSON. Yes, both: foolish and--damned!
[ROBERT turns and looks into his face for the first time as the curtain
slowly falls on the First Act.]

THE SECOND ACT
As the curtain rises, the scene and situation remain unchanged.
Presently, Robert, having completed his inspection of the other's face
and costume, moves away with a characteristic interjection.
ROBERT. Oh, Jeeroosalem! . . .
'Ere, 'elp us orf, comride: I'm wet through. Rainin' cats an' dorgs dahn
at the Junction! 'Ere, I cawn't . . . Wot oh! The very identical! . . .
[MANSON has helped him