The Skin Game | Page 5

takes generations to learn to live and let live, Jill.
People like that take an ell when you give them an inch.
JILL. But if you gave them the ell, they wouldn't want the inch. Why
should it all be such a skin game?
HILLCRIST. Skin game? Where do you get your lingo?
JILL. Keep to the point, Dodo.
HILLCRIST. Well, Jill, all life's a struggle between people at different

stages of development, in different positions, with different amounts of
social influence and property. And the only thing is to have rules of the
game and keep them. New people like the Hornblowers haven't learnt
those rules; their only rule is to get all they can.
JILL. Darling, don't prose. They're not half as bad as you think.
HILLCRIST. Well, when I sold Hornblower Longmeadow and the
cottages, I certainly found him all right. All the same, he's got the
cloven hoof. [Warming up] His influence in Deepwater is thoroughly
bad; those potteries of his are demoralising--the whole atmosphere of
the place is changing. It was a thousand pities he ever came here and
discovered that clay. He's brought in the modern cutthroat spirit.
JILL. Cut our throat spirit, you mean. What's your definition of a
gentleman, Dodo?
HILLCRIST. [Uneasily] Can't describe--only feel it.
JILL. Oh! Try!
HILLCRIST. Well--er--I suppose you might say--a man who keeps his
form and doesn't let life scupper him out of his standards.
JILL. But suppose his standards are low?
HILLCRIST. [With some earnestness] I assume, of course, that he's
honest and tolerant, gentle to the weak, and not self-seeking.
JILL. Ah! self-seeking? But aren't we all, Dodo? I am.
HILLCRIST. [With a smile] You!
JILL. [Scornfully] Oh! yes--too young to know.
HILLCRIST. Nobody knows till they're under pretty heavy fire, Jill.
JILL. Except, of course, mother.
HILLCRIST. How do you mean--mother?
JILL. Mother reminds me of England according to herself--always right
whatever she does.
HILLCRIST. Ye-es. Your mother it perhaps--the perfect woman.
JILL. That's what I was saying. Now, no one could call you perfect,
Dodo. Besides, you've got gout.
HILLCRIST. Yes; and I want Fellows. Ring that bell.
JILL. [Crossing to the bell] Shall I tell you my definition of a
gentleman? A man who gives the Hornblower his due. [She rings the
bell] And I think mother ought to call on them. Rolf says old
Hornblower resents it fearfully that she's never made a sign to Chloe
the three years she's been here.

HILLCRIST. I don't interfere with your mother in such matters. She
may go and call on the devil himself if she likes.
JILL. I know you're ever so much better than she is.
HILLCRIST. That's respectful.
JILL. You do keep your prejudices out of your phiz. But mother
literally looks down her nose. And she never forgives an "h." They'd
get the "hell" from her if they took the "hinch."
HILLCRIST. Jill-your language!
JILL. Don't slime out of it, Dodo. I say, mother ought to call on the
Hornblowers. [No answer.] Well?
HILLCRIST. My dear, I always let people have the last word. It makes
them--feel funny. Ugh! My foot![Enter FELLOWS, Left.] Fellows,
send into the village and get another bottle of this stuff.
JILL. I'll go, darling.
[She blow him a kiss, and goes out at the window.]
HILLCRIST. And tell cook I've got to go on slops. This foot's worse.
FELLOWS. [Sympathetic] Indeed, sir.
HILLCRIST. My third go this year, Fellows.
FELLOWS. Very annoying, sir.
HILLCRIST. Ye-es. Ever had it?
FELLOWS. I fancy I have had a twinge, sir.
HILLCRIST. [Brightening] Have you? Where?
FELLOWS. In my cork wrist, sir.
HILLCRIST. Your what?
FELLOWS. The wrist I draw corks with.
HILLCRIST. [With a cackle] You'd have had more than a twinge if
you'd lived with my father. H'm!
FELLOWS. Excuse me, sir--Vichy water corks, in my experience, are
worse than any wine.
HILLCRIST. [Ironically] Ah! The country's not what it was, is it,
Fellows?
FELLOWS. Getting very new, sir.
HILLCRIST. [Feelingly] You're right. Has Dawker come?
FELLOWS. Not yet, sir. The Jackmans would like to see you, sir.
HILLCRIST. What about?
FELLOWS. I don't know, sir.
HILLCRIST. Well, show them in.

FELLOWS. [Going] Yes, sir.
[HILLCRIST turns his swivel chair round. The JACKMANS come in.
He, a big fellow about fifty, in a labourer's dress, with eyes which have
more in then than his tongue can express; she, a little woman with a
worn face, a bright, quick glance, and a tongue to match.]
HILLCRIST. Good morning, Mrs. Jackman! Morning, Jackman!
Haven't seen you for a long time. What can I do?
[He draws in foot, and breath, with a sharp hiss.]
HILLCRIST. [In a down-hearted voice] We've had notice to quit, sir.
HILLCRIST. [With emphasis] What!
JACKMAN. Got to be out this week.
MRS. J. Yes, sir, indeed.
HILLCRIST.