VALENTINE [decisively] Bosh! [He throws the menu down and goes round the table to look out unconcernedly over the parapet].
CRAMPTON [angrily] What d’ye –
M’Comas, followed by Phil and Dolly, comes out, but recoils on seeing Crampton.
WAITER [softly interrupting Crampton] Steady, sir. Here they come, sir. [He takes up Valentine’s stick and makes for the hotel, throwing the coat across his arm].
M’Comas turns the corners of his mouth resolutely down and crosses to Crampton, who draws back and glares, with his hands behind him. M’Comas, with his brow opener than ever, confronts him in the majesty of a spotless conscience.
WAITER [aside, as he passes Phil on his way out] Ive broke it to him, sir.
PHILIP. Invaluable William! [He passes on to the table].
DOLLY [aside to the waiter] How did he take it?
WAITER [aside to her] Startled at first, miss; but resigned: very resigned indeed, miss. [He takes the stick and coat into the hotel].
M’COMAS [having stared Crampton out of countenance] So here you are, Mr Crampton.
CRAMPTON. Yes, here: caught in a trap: a mean trap. Are those my children?
PHILIP [with deadly politeness] Is this our father, Mr M’Comas?
M’COMAS [stoutly] He is.
DOLLY [conventionally] Pleased to meet you again. [She wanders idly round the table, exchanging a grimace with Valentine on the way].
PHILIP. Allow me to discharge my first duty as host by ordering your wine. [He takes the wine list from the table. His polite attention, and Dolly’s unconcerned indifference, leave Crampton on the footing of a casual acquaintance picked up that morning at the dentist’s. The consciousness of it goes through the father with so keen a pang that he trembles all over; his brow becomes wet; and he stares dumbly at his son, who, just sensible enough of his own callousness to intensely enjoy the humor and adroitness of it, proceeds pleasantly] Finch: some crusted old port for you, as a respectable family solicitor, eh?
M’COMAS [firmly] Apollinaris only. Nothing heating. [He walks away to the side of the terrace, like a man putting temptation behind him].
PHILIP. Valentine –?
VALENTINE. Would Lager be considered vulgar?
PHILIP. Probably. We’ll order some. [Turning to Crampton with cheerful politeness] And now, Mr Crampton, what can we do for you?
CRAMPTON. What d’ye mean, boy?
PHILIP. Boy! [Very solemnly] Whose fault is it that I am a boy?
Crampton snatches the wine list rudely from him and irresolutely pretends to read it. Philip abandons it to him with perfect politeness.
DOLLY [looking over Crampton’s right shoulder]. The whisky’s on the last page but one.
CRAMPTON. Let me alone, child.
DOLLY. Child! No, no: you may call me Dolly if you like, but you mustnt call me child. [She slips her arm through Phil’s; and the two stand looking at Crampton as if he were some eccentric stranger].
CRAMPTON [mopping his brow in rage and agony, and yet relieved even by their playing with him] M’Comas: we are – ha! – going to have a pleasant meal.
M’COMAS [resolutely cheerful] There is no reason why it should not be pleasant.
PHILIP. Finch’s face is a feast in itself.
Mrs Clandon and Gloria come from the hotel. Mrs Clandon advances with courageous self-possession and marked dignity of manner. She stops at the foot of the steps to address Valentine, who is in her path. Gloria also stops, looking at Crampton with a certain repulsion.
MRS CLANDON. Glad to see you again, Mr Valentine. [He smiles. She passes on and confronts Crampton, intending to address him with complete composure; but his aspect shakes her. She stops suddenly and says anxiously, with a touch of remorse] Fergus: you are greatly changed.
CRAMPTON [grimly] I daresay. A man does change in eighteen years.
MRS CLANDON [troubled] I – I did not mean that. I hope your health is good.
CRAMPTON. Thank you. No: it’s not my health. It’s my happiness: thats the change you meant, I think. [Breaking out suddenly] Look at her, M’Comas! Look at her; and [with a half laugh, half sob] look at me!
PHILIP. Sh! [Pointing to the hotel entrance, where the waiter has just appealed] Order before William!
DOLLY [touching Crampton’s arm warningly] Ahem!
The waiter goes to the service table and beckons to the kitchen entrance, whence issue a young waiter with soup plates, and a cook, in white apron and cap, with the soup tureen. The young waiter remains and serves: the cook goes out, and reappears from time to time bringing in the courses. He carves, but does not serve. The waiter comes to the end of the luncheon table next the steps.
MRS CLANDON [as they assemble at the table] I think you have all met one another already today. Oh no: excuse me. [Introducing] Mr Valentine: Mr M’Comas. [She goes to the end of the table nearest the hotel]. Fergus: will you take the head of the table, please.
CRAMPTON. Ha! [Bitterly] The head of the table!
WAITER [holding the chair for him with inoffensive encouragement] This end, sir. [Crampton submits, and takes his seat]. Thank you, sir.
MRS CLANDON. Mr Valentine: will you take that side [indicating the side next the parapet] with Gloria? [Valentine and Gloria take their places, Gloria next Crampton and Valentine next Mrs Clandon]. Finch: I must put you on this side, between Dolly and Phil. You must protect yourself as best you can.
The three take the remaining side of the table, Dolly next her mother, Phil next his father. Soup is served.
WAITER [to Crampton] Thick or clear, sir?
CRAMPTON [To Mrs Clandon] Does nobody ask a blessing in this household?
PHILIP [interposing smartly] Let us first settle what we are about to receive. William!
WAITER. Yes, sir. [He glides swiftly round the table to Phil’s left elbow. On his way he whispers to the younger waiter] Thick.
PHILIP. Two small Lagers for the children as usual, William; and one large for this gentleman [indicating Valentine]. Large Apollinaris for Mr M’Comas.
WAITER. Yes, sir.
DOLLY. Have a six of Irish in it, Finch?
M’COMAS [scandalized] No. No, thank you.
PHILIP. Number 413 for my mother and Miss Gloria as before; and – [turning inquiringly to Crampton] Eh?
CRAMPTON [scowling and about to reply offensively] I –
WAITER [striking in mellifluously] All right, sir. We know what Mr Crampton likes here, sir. [He goes into the hotel].
PHILIP [looking gravely at his father] You frequent bars. Bad habit!
The cook, followed by a waiter with hot plates, brings in the fish from the kitchen to the service table, and begins slicing it.
CRAMPTON. You have learnt your lesson from your mother, I see.
MRS CLANDON. Phil: will you please remember that your jokes are apt to irritate people who are not accustomed to us, and that your father is our guest today.
CRAMPTON [bitterly] Yes: a guest at the head of my own table. [The soup plates are removed].
DOLLY [sympathetically] It’s embarrassing, isnt it? It’s just as bad for us, you know.
PHILIP. Sh! Dolly: we are both wanting in tact. [To Crampton] We mean well, Mr Crampton; but we are not yet strong in the filial line. [The waiter returns from the hotel with the drinks]. William: come and restore good feeling.
WAITER [cheerfully] Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. Small Lager for you sir. [To Crampton] Seltzer and Irish, sir. [To M’Comas] Apollinaris, sir. [To Dolly] Small Lager, miss. [To Mrs Clandon, pouring out wine] 413, madam. [To Valentine] Large Lager for you, sir. [To Gloria] 413, miss.
DOLLY [drinking] To the family!
PHILIP [drinking] Hearth and Home!
Fish is served.
M’COMAS. We are getting on very nicely after all.
DOLLY [critically] After all! After all what, Finch?
CRAMPTON [sarcastically] He means that you are getting on very nicely in spite of the presence of your father. Do I take your point
rightly, Mr M’Comas?
M’COMAS [disconcerted] No, no. I only said ‘after all’ to round off the sentence. I – er – er – er –
WAITER [tactfully] Turbot, sir?
M’COMAS [intensely grateful for the interruption] Thank you, waiter: thank you.
WAITER [sotto voce] Dont mention it, sir. [He returns to the service table].
CRAMPTON [to Phil] Have you thought of choosing a profession yet?
PHILIP. I am keeping my mind open on that subject. William!
WAITER. Yes, sir.
PHILIP. How long do you think it would take me to learn to be a really smart waiter?
WAITER. Cant be learnt, sir. It’s in the character, sir. [Confidentially to Valentine, who is looking about for something] Bread for the lady, sir? yes, sir. [He serves bread to Gloria, and resumes, at his former pitch] Very few are born to it, sir.
PHILIP. You dont happen to have such a thing as a son, yourself, have you?
WAITER. Yes, sir: oh yes, sir. [To Gloria, again dropping his voice] A little more fish, miss? you wont care for the joint in the middle of the day.
GLORIA. No, thank you.
The fish plates are removed, and the next course served.
DOLLY. Is your son a waiter too, William?
WAITER [serving Gloria with fowl] Oh no, miss: he’s too impetuous. He’s at the Bar.
M’COMAS [patronizingly] A potman, eh?
WAITER [with a touch of melancholy, as if recalling a disappointment softened by time] No, sir: the other bar. Your profession, sir. A Q. C., sir.
M’COMAS [embarrassed] I’m sure I beg your pardon.
WAITER. Not at all, sir. Very natural mistake, I’m sure, sir. Ive often wished he was a potman, sir. Would have been off my hands ever so much sooner, sir. [Aside to Valentine, who is again in difficulties] Salt at your elbow, sir. [Resuming] Yes, sir: had to support him until he was thirty-seven, sir. But doing well now, sir: very satisfactory indeed, sir. Nothing less than fifty guineas, sir.
M’COMAS. Democracy, Crampton! Modern democracy!
WAITER [calmly] No, sir, not democracy: only education, sir. Scholarships, sir. Cambridge Local, sir. Sidney Sussex College, sir. [Dolly plucks his sleeve and whispers as he bends down]. Stone ginger, miss? Right, miss. [To M’Comas] Very good thing for him, sir: he never had any turn for real work, sir. [He goes into the hotel, leaving the company somewhat overwhelmed by his son’s eminence].
VALENTINE. Which of us dare give that man an order again!
DOLLY. I hope he wont mind my sending him for ginger-beer.
CRAMPTON [doggedly] While he’s a waiter it’s his business to wait. If you had treated him as a waiter ought to be treated, he’d have held his tongue.
DOLLY. What a loss that would have been! Perhaps he’ll give us an introduction to his son and get us into London society.
The waiter reappears with the ginger-beer.
CRAMPTON [growling contemptuously] London society! London society! Youre not fit for any society, child.
DOLLY [losing her temper] Now look here, Mr Crampton. If you think –
WAITER [softly, at her elbow] Stone ginger, miss.
DOLLY [taken aback, recovers her good humor after a long breath, and says sweetly] Thank you, dear William. You were just in time. [She drinks].
M’COMAS. If I may be allowed to change the subject, Miss Clandon, what is the established religion in Madeira?
GLORIA. I suppose the Portuguese religion. I never inquired.
DOLLY. The servants come in Lent and kneel down before you and confess all the things theyve done; and you have to pretend to forgive them. Do they do that in England, William?
WAITER. Not usually, miss. They may in some parts; but it has not come under my notice, miss. [Catching Mrs Clandon’s eye as the young waiter offers her the salad bowl] You like it without dressing, maam; yes, maam, I have some for you. [To his young colleague, motioning him to serve Gloria] This side, Jo. [He takes a special portion of salad from the service table and puts it beside Mrs Clandon’s plate. In doing so he observes that Dolly is making a wry face]. Only a bit of watercress, miss, got in by mistake [he takes her salad away]. Thank you, miss. [To the young waiter, admonishing him to serve Dolly afresh] Jo. [Resuming] Mostly members of the Church of England, miss.
DOLLY. Members of the Church of England? Whats the subscription?
CRAMPTON [rising violently amid general consternation] You see how my children have been brought up, M’Comas. You see it: you hear it. I call all of you to witness – [He becomes inarticulate, and is about to strike his fist recklessly on the table when the waiter considerately takes away his plate].
MRS CLANDON [firmly] Sit down, Fergus. There is no occasion at all for this outburst. You must remember that Dolly is just like a foreigner here. Pray sit down.
CRAMPTON [subsiding unwillingly] I doubt whether I ought to sit here and countenance all this. I doubt it.
WAITER. Cheese, sir? or would you like a cold sweet?
CRAMPTON [taken aback] What? Oh! Cheese, cheese.
DOLLY. Bring a box of cigarets, William.
WAITER. All ready, miss. [He takes a box of cigarets from the service table and places them before Dolly, who selects one and prepares to smoke. He then returns to his table for the matches].
CRAMPTON [staring aghast at Dolly] Does she smoke?
DOLLY [out of patience] Really, Mr Crampton, I’m afraid I’m spoiling your lunch. I’ll go and have my cigaret on the beach. [She leaves the table with petulant suddenness and goes to the steps. The waiter strikes a match and adroitly lights her cigaret]. Thank you, dear William. [She vanishes down the steps].
CRAMPTON [furiously] Margaret: call that girl back. Call her back, I say.
M’COMAS [trying to make peace] Come, Crampton: never mind. She’s her father’s daughter: thats all.
MRS CLANDON [with deep resentment] I hope not, Finch. [She rises: they all rise a little]. Mr Valentine: will you excuse me? I am afraid Dolly is hurt and put out by what has passed. I must go to her.
CRAMPTON. TO take her part against me, you mean.
MRS CLANDON [ignoring him] Gloria: will you take my place whilst I am away, dear. [She crosses to the steps and goes down to the beach].
Crampton’s expression is one of bitter hatred. The rest watch her in embarrassed silence, feeling the incident to be a very painful one. The waiter discreetly shepherds his assistant along with him into the hotel by the kitchen entrance, leaving the luncheon party to themselves.
CRAMPTON [throwing himself back in his chair] Theres a mother for you, M’Comas! Theres a mother for you!
GLORIA [steadfastly] Yes: a good mother.
CRAMPTON. And a bad father? Thats what you mean, eh?
VALENTINE [rising indignantly and addressing Gloria] Miss Clandon: I –
CRAMPTON [turning on him] That girl’s name is Crampton, Mr Valentine, not Clandon. Do you wish to join them in insulting me?
VALENTINE [ignoring him] I’m overwhelmed, Miss Clandon. It’s all my fault: I brought him here: I’m responsible for him. And I’m ashamed of him.
CRAMPTON. What d’y’ mean?
GLORIA [rising coldly] No harm has been done, Mr Valentine. We have all been a little childish, I am afraid. Our party has been a failure: let us break it up and have done with it. [She puts her chair aside and turns to the steps, adding, with slighting composure, as she passes Crampton] Goodbye, father.
She descends the steps with cold disgusted indifference. They all look after her, and so do not notice the return of the waiter from the hotel, laden with Crampton’s coat, Valentine’s stick, a couple of shawls and parasols, and some camp stools, which he deposits on the bench.
CRAMPTON [to himself, staring after Gloria with a ghastly expression] Father! Father!! [He strikes his fist violently on the table]. Now –
WAITER [offering the coat] This is yours, sir, I think, sir. [Crampton glares at him, then snatches it rudely and comes down the terrace towards the garden s
eat, struggling with the coat in his angry efforts to put it on. M’Comas rises and goes to his assistance: then takes his hat and umbrella from the little iron table, and turns towards the steps. Meanwhile the waiter, after thanking Crampton with unruffled sweetness for taking the coat, picks up the other articles and offers the parasols to Phil]. The ladies’ sunshades, sir. Nasty glare off the sea today, sir: very trying to the complexion, sir. I shall carry down the camp stools myself, sir.
PHILIP. You are old, Father William; but you are the most thoughtful of men. No: keep the sunshades and give me the camp stools [taking them].
WAITER [with flattering gratitude] Thank you, sir.
PHILIP. Finch: share with me [giving him a couple]. Come along. [They go down the steps together].
VALENTINE [to the waiter] Leave me something to bring down. One of these [offering to take a sunshade].
WAITER [discreetly] Thats the younger lady’s, sir. [Valentine lets it go]. Thank you, sir. If youll allow me, sir, I think you had better take this. [He puts down his burden on Crampton’s chair, and produces from the tail pocket of his dress coat a book with a lady’s handkerchief between the leaves to mark the page]. The elder young lady is reading it at present. [Valentine takes it eagerly]. Thank you, sir. The Subjection of Women, sir, you see. [He takes up the burden again]. Heavier reading than you and I would care for at the seaside, sir. [He goes down the steps].
VALENTINE [coming rather excitedly to Crampton] Now look here, Crampton: are you at all ashamed of yourself?
CRAMPTON [pugnaciously] Ashamed of myself! What for?
VALENTINE. For behaving like a bear. What will your daughter think of me for having brought you here?
CRAMPTON. I was not thinking of what my daughter was thinking of you.
VALENTINE. No, you were thinking of yourself. Youre a perfect egomaniac.
CRAMPTON [heartrent] She told you what I am: a father: a father robbed of his children. What are the hearts of this generation like? Am I to come here after all these years? to see what my children are for the first time! to hear their voices! and carry it all off like a fashionable visitor; drop in to lunch; be Mr Crampton? Mister Crampton! What right have they to talk to me like that? I’m their father: do they deny that? I’m a man, with the feelings of our common humanity: have I no rights, no claims? In all these years who have I had round me? Servants, clerks, business acquaintances. Ive had respect from them: aye, kindness. Would one of them have spoken to me as that girl spoke? Would one of them have laughed at me as that boy was laughing at me all the time? [Frantically] My own children! Mister Crampton! My –
Plays Pleasant Page 27