Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  (Goes to R.)

  Mrs. White: Don’t let sudden wealth sour your temper, John.

  Mr. White: Will you find my specs?

  Mrs. White (taking them off mantelpiece): Here, John, here. (As he opens the letter.) Take care! Don’t tear it!

  Mr. White: Tear what?

  Mrs. White: If it was banknotes, John!

  Mr. White (taking a thick, formal document out of the envelope and a crisp-looking slip): You’ve gone dotty. — You’ve made me nervous. (Reads.) “Sir. — Enclosed please find receipt for interest on the mortgage of £200 on your house, duly received.”

  (They look at each other. Mr. White sits down to finish his breakfast silently. Mrs. White goes to the window.)

  Mrs. White: That comes of listening to tipsy old soldiers.

  Mr. White (pettish): What does?

  Mrs. White: You thought there was banknotes in it.

  Mr. White (injured): I didn’t! I said all along —

  Mrs. White: How Herbert will laugh, when I tell him!

  Mr. White (with gruff good-humour): You’re not going to tell him. You’re going to keep your mouth shut. That’s what you’re going to do. Why, I should never hear the last of it.

  Mrs. White: Serve you right. I shall tell him. You know you like his fun. See how he joked you last night when you said the paw moved.

  (She is looking through the window towards R.)

  Mp. White: So it did. It did move. That I’ll swear to.

  Mrs. White (abstractedly: she is watching some- thing outside): You thought it did.

  Mr. White: I say it did. There was no thinking about it. You saw how it upset me, didn’t you? (She doesn’t answer.) Didn’t you? — Why don’t you listen? (Turns round.) What is it?

  Mrs. White: Nothing.

  Mr. White (turns back to his breakfast): Do you see Herbert coming?

  Mrs. White: No.

  Mr. White: He’s about due. What is it?

  Mrs. White: Nothing. Only a man. Looks like a gentleman. Leastways, he’s in black, and he’s got a top-hat on.

  Mr. White: What about him? (He is not interested; goes on eating.)

  Mrs. White: He stood at the garden-gate as if he wanted to come in. But he couldn’t seem to make up his mind.

  Mr. White: Oh, go on! You’re full o’ fancies.

  Mrs. White: He’s going — no; he’s coming back.

  Mr. White: Don’t let him see you peeping.

  Mrs. White (with increasing excitement): He’s looking at the house. He’s got his hand on the latch. No. He turns away again. (Eagerly,) John! He looks like a sort of a lawyer.

  Mr. White: What of it?

  Mrs. White: Oh, you’ll only laugh again. But suppose — suppose he’s coming about the two hundred.

  Mr. White: You’re not to mention it again! — You’re a foolish old woman. — Come and eat your breakfast. (Eagerly.) Where is he now?

  Mrs. White: Gone down the road. He has turned back. He seems to’ve made up his mind. Here he comes! — Oh, John, and me all untidy! (Crosses to fire R.)

  (Knock.)

  Mr. White (to Mrs. White, who is hastily smoothing her hair, etc.): What’s it matter? He’s made a mistake. Come to the wrong house. (Crosses to fireplace.)

  (Mrs. White opens the door. Mr. Sampson, dressed from head to foot in solemn black, with a top-hat, stands in the doorway.)

  Sampson (outside): Is this Mr. White’s?

  Mrs. White: Come in, sir. Please step in. (She shows him into the room; goes R., he is awkward and nervous.) You must overlook our being so untidy; and the room all anyhow; and John in his garden-coat. (To Mr. White, reproachfully). Oh, John.

  Sampson (to Mr. White): Morning. My name is Sampson.

  Mrs. White (offering a chair): Won’t you please be seated?

  (Sampson stands quite still up c.)

  Sampson: Ah — thank you — no, I think not — I think not. (Pause.)

  Mr. White (awkwardly, trying to help him): Fine weather for the time o’ year.

  Sampson: Ah — yes — yes (Pause; he makes a renewed effort) My name is Sampson — I’ve come —

  Mrs. White: Perhaps you was wishful to see Herbert; he’ll be home in a minute. (Pointing.) Here’s his breakfast waiting —

  Sampson (interrupting her hastily): No, no I (Pause.) I’ve come from the electrical works —

  Mrs. White: Why, you might have come with him.

  (Mr. White sees something is wrong, tenderly puts his hand on her arm)

  Sampson: No — no — I ‘ve come — alone.

  Mrs. White (with a little anxiety): Is anything the matter?

  Sampson: I was asked to call —

  Mrs. White (abruptly): Herbert! Has anything happened? Is he hurt? Is he hurt?

  Mr. White (soothing her): There, there, mother. Don’t you jump to conclusions. Let the gentleman speak. You’ve not brought bad news, I’m sure, sir.

  Sampson: I’m — sorry —

  Mrs. White: Is he hurt?

  (Sampson bows.)

  Mrs. White: Badly?

  Sampson: Very badly. (Turns away.)

  Mrs. White (with a cry): John — ! (She instinctively moves towards White.)

  Mr. White: Is he in pain?

  Sampson: He is not in pain.

  Mrs. White: Oh, thank God! Thank God for that! Thank — (She looks in a startled fashion at Mr. White — realizes what Sampson means, catches his arm and tries to turn him towards her). Do you mean — ?

  (Sampson avoids her look: she gropes for her husband: he takes her two hands in his, and gently lets her sink into the armchair above the fireplace, then he stands on her right, between her and Sampson.)

  Mr. White (hoarsely): Go on, sir.

  Sampson: He was telling his mates a story. Something that had happened here last night. He was laughing, and wasn’t noticing and — and — (hushed) the machinery caught him —

  (A little cry from Mrs. White, her face shows her horror and agony.)

  Mr. White (vague, holding Mrs. White’s hand): The machinery caught him — yes — and him the only child — it’s hard, sir — very hard —

  Sampson (subdued): The Company wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great loss —

  Mr. White (staring blankly): Our — great — loss!

  Sampson: I was to say further — (as if apologizing) I am only their servant — I am only obeying orders —

  Mr. White: Our — great — loss — !

  Sampson (laying an envelope on the table and edging towards the door): I was to say, the Company disclaim all responsibility, but, in consideration of your son’s services, they wish to present you with a certain sum as compensation. (Gets to door.)

  Mr. White: Our — great — loss — (Suddenly, with horror.) How — how much?

  Sampson (in the doorway): Two hundred pounds.

  (Exit.)

  (Mrs. White gives a cry. The old man takes no heed of her, smiles faintly, puts out his hands like a sightless man, and drops, a senseless heap, to the floor. Mrs. White stares at him blankly and her hands go out helplessly towards him.)

  Scene III

  Mrs. White: And taken all our hopes with him —

  Mr. White: And all our wishes —

  Mrs. White: Ay, and all our — (With a sudden cry.) John!

  (She comes quickly to him; he rises.)

  Mr. White: Jenny! For God’s sake! What’s the matter?

  Mrs. White (with dreadful eagerness): The paw! The monkey’s paw!

  Mr. White (bewildered): Where? Where is it? What’s wrong with it?

  Mrs. White: I want it! You haven’t done away with it?

  Mr. White: I haven’t seen it — since — why?

  Mrs. White: I want it! Find it! Find it!

  Mr. White (groping on the mantelpiece): Here! Here it is! What do you want of it? (He leaves it there.)

  Mrs. White: Why didn’t I think of it? Why didn’t you think of it?

  Mr. White: Think of what?

  Mrs
. White: The other two wishes!

  Mr. White (with horror): What?

  Mrs. White: We’ve only had one.

  Mr. White (tragically): Wasn’t that enough?

  Mrs. White: No! We’ll have one more. (White crosses to r. c, Mrs. White takes the paw and follows him) Take it. Take it quickly. And wish —

  Mr. White (avoiding the paw): Wish what?

  Mrs. White: Oh, John! John! Wish our boy alive again!

  Mr. White: Good God! Are you mad?

  Mrs. White: Take it. Take it and wish. (With a paroxysm of grief.) Oh, my boy! My boy!

  Mr. White: Get to bed. Get to sleep. You don’t know what you’re saying.

  Mrs. White: We had the first wish granted — why not the second?

  Mr. White (hushed): He’s been dead ten days, and — Jenny! Jenny! I only knew him by his clothing — if you wasn’t allowed to see him then — how could you bear to see him now?

  Mrs. White: I don’t care. Bring him back.

  Mr. White (shrinking from the paw): I daren’t touch it!

  Mrs. White (thrusting it in his hand): Here! Here! Wish!

  Mr. White (trembling): Jenny!

  Mrs. White (fiercely): Wish. (She goes on frantically whispering “Wish.”)

  Mr. White (shuddering, but overcome by her insistence): I — I — wish — my — son — alive again.

  (He drops it with a cry. The candle goes out. Utter darkness. He sinks into a chair. Mrs. White hurries to the window and draws the blind back. She stands in the moonlight. Pause.)

  Mrs. White (drearily): Nothing.

  Mr. White: Thank God! Thank God!

  Mrs. White: Nothing at all. Along the whole length of the road not a living thing. (Closes blind.) And nothing, nothing, nothing left in our lives, John.

  Mr. White: Except each other, Jenny — and memories.

  Mrs. White (coming back slowly to the fireplace): We’re too old. We were only alive in him. We can’t begin again. We can’t feel anything now, John, but emptiness and darkness. (She sinks into armchair.)

  Mr. White: ’Tisn’t for long, Jenny. There’s that to look forward to.

  Mrs. White: Every minute’s long, now.

  Mr. White (rising): I can’t bear the darkness!

  Mrs. White: It’s dreary — dreary.

  Mr. White (crosses to dresser): Where’s the candle?

  (Finds it and brings it to table) And the matches? Where are the matches? We mustn’t sit in the dark. Tisn’t wholesome. (Lights match; the other candlestick is close to him.) There. (Turning with the lighted match towards Mrs. White, who is rocking and moaning.) Don’t take on so, mother.

  Mrs. White: I’m a mother no longer.

  Mr. White (lights candle): There now; there now. Go on up to bed. Go on now — I’m a-coming.

  Mrs. White: Whether I’m here or in bed, or wherever I am, I’m with my boy, I’m with —

  (A low single knock at the street door.)

  Mrs. White (starting): What’s that?

  Mr. White (mastering his horror): A rat. The house is full of ’em. (A louder single knock; she starts up. He catches her by the arm.) Stop! What are you going to do?

  Mrs. White (wildly): It’s my boy! It’s Herbert! I forgot it was a mile away! What are you holding me for? I must open the door!

  (The knocking continues in single knocks at irregular intervals, constantly growing louder and more insistent.)

  Mr. White (still holding her): For God’s sake!

  Mrs. White (struggling): Let me go!

  Mr. White: Don’t open the door!

  (He drags her towards left front.)

  Mrs. White: Let me go!

  Mr. White: Think what you might see!

  Mrs. White (struggling fiercely): Do you think I fear the child I bore! Let me go! (She wrenches herself loose and rushes to the door which she tears open) I’m coming, Herbert! I’m coming!

  Mr. White (cowering in the extreme corner left front): Don’t ‘ee do it! Don’t ‘ee do it!

  (Mrs. White is at work on the outer door, where the knocking continues. She slips the chain, slips the lower bolt, unlocks the door.)

  Mr. White (suddenly): The paw! Where’s the monkey’s paw?

  (He gets on his knees and feels along the floor for it)

  Mrs. White (tugging at the top bolt): John! The top bolt’s stuck. I can’t move it. Come and help. Quick!

  Mr. White (wildly groping): The paw! There’ s a wish left.

  (The knocking is now loud, and in groups of increasing length between the speeches)

  Mrs. White: D’ye hear him? John! Your child’s knocking!

  Mr. White: Where is it? Where did it fall?

  Mrs. White (tugging desperately at the bolt): Help! Help! Will you keep your child from his home?

  Mr. White: Where did it fall? I can’t find it — I can’t find —

  (The knocking is now tempestuous, and there are blows upon the door as of a body beating against it)

  Mrs. White: Herbert! Herbert! My boy! Wait! Your mother’s opening to you! Ah! It’s moving! It’s moving!

  Mr. White: God forbid! (Finds the paw) Ah!

  Mrs. White (slipping the bolt): Herbert!

  Mr. White (has raised himself to his knees; he holds the paw high): I wish him dead. (The knocking stops abruptly.) I wish him dead and at peace!

  Mrs. White (flinging the door open simultaneously): Herb —

  (A flood of moonlight. Emptiness. The old man sways in prayer on his knees. The old woman lies half swooning, wailing against the door-post.)

  Curtain

  BEAUTY AND THE BARGE

  A FARCE IN THREE ACTS

  CONTENTS

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  ACT I.

  ACT II.

  ACT III.

  APPENDIX

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  Produced on Tuesday, August 30, 1904, at the New Theatre, London, with the following cast: —

  ACT I.

  SCENE. — A corner of a garden on the top of a cliff. On the right, near the footlights, a path winds off through the shrubbery; a little further up, on the right, but slantingly c., there is a wide gap in the bushes, fenced off by a low, wooden railing, through which there is a glimpse of the sea, sheer below the cliff, with the coastline fading away in the distance. At the back c more shrubbery, interrupted in the left corner back by another gap, with a view of the valley of a tidal river, with indications of a small town. At the back R. c., also a flag staff, with the Union Jack hanging from it, and a telescope on a tripod. Then, halfway down L., a wider path leads to the house. Another narrow path off left, near foot-lights. On the right between the path and the gap, a rustic seat, below this a stool, other garden chairs R. C. and L. In the centre of the stage a flower-bed. It is late afternoon on a summer’s day.

  (MAJOR SMEDLEY is discovered on the rustic seat, top end, pretending to read his “Morning Post,” his stick on seat. MRS. SMEDLEY is seated on stool R., pretending to be at work on a black mantle. LUCY is seated up R. c., pretending to read a novel on chair L. MRS. BALDWIN is pretending to be trimming a very simple hat. As a matter of fact, all the women are furtively crying and blowing their noses.

  MAJOR. (unable to endure it any longer, crushes the newspaper in his hand and flings it down and takes up stick) Confound and dash it! (rises, goes down c.)

  MRS. SMEDLEY. (R., shocked) William! Such language! (pointing to LUCY) Your niece!

  MAJOR. (C., curtly) I beg pardon, Lucy; they were expressions —— ——

  LUCY. (up R. C., through her tears) I don’t mind, uncle. This novel’s by a woman.

  MAJOR. But it’s too bad. I am naturally of a genial and sociable nature, and how the deuce can I be genial and sociable when you women sit here snivelling?

  MRS. SMEDLEY. We are thinking of Ethel. MAJOR. (goes to R. C., pushes newspaper under seat with stick) Why the devil can’t you think of your work, (over MRS. SMEDLEY) What are you making, Susan?

  MRS. SMEDLEY. A cloak for the Almshou
se w-w-women.

  MAJOR. (turns to L.) And you, Mrs. Baldwin. (comes to c.)

  MRS. BALDWIN. (sobbing) Oh don’t. Oh, I’m trimming a hat for a benighted little heathen! Oh, my poor Miss Ethel.

  MAJOR. Ha! you’re pitying her! You’re all pitying her!

  MRS. SMEDLEY. She is my daughter.

  LUCY. Poor Ethel! Locked in her room, on such a fine day.

  MAJOR. Insubordination! (goes to R. C.) Rank insubordination! from my only child.(sits on seat.)

  MRS. SMEDLEY. She is so like you.

  MAJOR. (fans himself with his hat, then places it on seat) A self-willed, pig-headed —

  MRS. SMEDLEY. Ye-s.

  MAJOR. Eh!

  MRS. SMEDLEY. NO!!

  MAJOR. H’m — I’ll keep her locked up a fortnight.

  (ETHEL, a charming young girl, enters up L., hardly more than a schoolgirl, simply dressed, peers out from the hushes, sees the group, and quickly crosses to bush c., disappears.)

  (continuing) She shall starve, Susan — or marry Herbert Manners, (calling) Mrs. Baldwin!

  (MRS. BALDWIN blows her nose.)

  Mrs. Baldwin!

  MRS. BALDWIN. Yes, sir. (rises, leaves hat on grass, comes to c.)

  MAJOR. (rising, goes to C., handing her a large door key) Here’s the key. Go and tell her to come here.

  MRS. BALDWIN. Yes, sir. Oh, the poor darling. (goes up L. C. to the path L.)

  MAJOR. (shouts, MRS. BALDWIN starts) She’s on parole, tell her.

  (Exit MRS. BALDWIN.)

  She’s to go back to her room the moment I’ve done with her unless — unless she — (is now by the flower bed, pointing to it) Tshah!

  (MRS. BALDWIN and LUCY slowly rise too on tiptoe in anguish as he raves.)

  Here! What’s this — what the devil’s this? (WOMEN sit again.)

  MRS. SMEDLEY. Oh, William, what?

  MAJOR. Somebody’s been jumping into the flowerbed. Look!

  (MRS. SMEDLEY rises, comes to R. C.)

  (sternly) Was it you, Susan?

  MRS. SMEDLEY. For shame, William, (goes to R.)

  MAJOR. Lucy — you?

  LUCY. (indignant) Uncle!

  MAJOR. Then who was it?

  MRS. SMEDLEY. (sits) Rabbits, William.

  MAJOR. Rabbits, with high heels. (shouts) Dibbs! Dibbs! Where the devil’s Dibbs?