LUTHER: Thank yer kindly.
MINNIE: Shall you rake?
LUTHER: I’ll rake.
She moves about; lays table for his morning’s breakfast: a newspaper, cup, plate, etc. — no food, because it would go dry; rinses his tin pit-bottle, puts it and his snap-bag on the table.
I could do it for mysen. Tha ned do nowt for me.
MINNIE: Why this sudden fit of unselfishness?
LUTHER: I niver want thee to do nowt for me, niver no more. No, not so much as lift a finger for me — not if I wor dyin’.
MINNIE: You’re not dying; you’re only tipsy.
LUTHER: Well, it’s no matter to thee what I am.
MINNIE: It’s very comfortable for you to think so.
LUTHER: I know nowt about that.
MINNIE (after a pause): Where have you been to-night?
LUTHER: There an’ back, to see how far it is.
MINNIE (making an effort): Have you been up to your mother’s?
LUTHER: Where I’ve bin, I’ve bin, and where I haven’t, I haven’t.
MINNIE: Pah! — you needn’t try to magnify it and make a mountain. You’ve been to your mother’s, and then to “The Ram”.
LUTHER: All right — if tha knows, tha knows, an’ theer’s an end on’t.
MINNIE: You talk like a fool.
LUTHER: That comes o’ bein’ a fool.
MINNIE: When were you a fool?
LUTHER: Ivry day o’ my life, an’ ivry breath I’ve ta’en.
MINNIE (having finished work, sits down again): I suppose you haven’t got it in you to say anything fresh.
LUTHER: Why, what dost want me ter say? (He looks at her for the first time.)
MINNIE (with a queer catch): You might be more of a man if you said you were sorry.
LUTHER: Sorry! Sorry for what?
MINNIE: You’ve nothing to be sorry for, have you?
LUTHER (looking at her, quickly): What art goin’ ter say?
MINNIE: It’s what are you going to say. (A silence.)
LUTHER (doggedly): I’m goin’ ter say nowt.
MINNIE (bitterly): No, you’re not man enough to say anything — you can only slobber. You do a woman a wrong, but you’re never man enough to say you’re sorry for it. You’re not a man, you’re not — you’re something crawling!
LUTHER: I’m glad! I’m glad! I’m glad! No, an’ I wouldna ta’e’t back, no. ‘Er wor nice wi’ me, which is a thing tha’s niver bin. An’ so tha’s got it, an’ mun keep it.
MINNIE: Who was nice with you?
LUTHER: She was — an’ would ha’e bin at this minnit, but for thee.
MINNIE: Pah! — you’re not fit to have a wife. You only want your mother to rock you to sleep.
LUTHER: Neither mother, nor wife, neither thee nor onybody do I want — no — no.
MINNIE: No — you’ve had three cans of beer.
LUTHER: An’ if ter niver sleeps i’ th’ bed wi’ me again, an’ if ter niver does a hand’s turn for me niver no more, I’m glad, I’m glad. I non want thee. I non want ter see thee.
MINNIE: You mean coward. Good God! I never thought you were such a mean coward as this.
LUTHER: An’ as for thy money — yi, I wouldna smell on’t. An’ neither thine, nor our Joe’s, nor my mother’s will I ha’e. What I addle’s my own. What I gi’e thee, I gie thee. An’ she maun ha’e ten shillin’s a month, an’ tha maun abide by’t.
MINNIE: What are you talking about?
LUTHER: My mother wouldna gi’e me th’ money. She says she’s done her share. An’ tha’s done thine. An’ I’ve done mine, begod. An’ what yer canna chew yer maun swaller.
MINNIE: You must be quite drunk.
LUTHER: Must I? Alright, it’s Dutch courage then. A’right, then Dutch courage it is. But I tell thee, tha does as ter’s a mind. Tha can leave me, an’ go back inter service, if ter wants. What’s it ter me, if I’m but a lump o’ suck i’ th’ ‘ouse wheer tha art? Tha should ha’ had our Joe — he’s got more go than me. An’ I should ha’ had ‘er. I’d got go enough for her; ‘appen a bit too much.
MINNIE: Her? Who?
LUTHER: Her! An’ I’m glad ‘er’s wi’ my childt. I’m glad I did it. I’m glad! For tha’s wiped tha feet on me enough. Yi, tha’s wiped thy feet on me till what’s it to me if tha does it or not? It isna! An’ now — tha maun abide by what ter’s got, tha maun. I s’ll ha’e to — an’ by plenty I hadna got I’ve abided. An’ so — an’ so — yi.
MINNIE: But who is it you — who is she?
LUTHER: Tha knowed a’ along.
MINNIE: Who is it?
They are both silent.
Aren’t you going to speak?
LUTHER: What’s the good?
MINNIE (coldly): But I must know.
LUTHER: Tha does know.
MINNIE: I can assure you I don’t.
LUTHER: Then assure thysen an’ find out.
Another silence.
MINNIE: Do you mean somebody is going to have a baby by you?
LUTHER: I mean what I’ve said, an’ I mean nowt else.
MINNIE: But you must tell me.
LUTHER: I’ve boiled my cabbage twice a’ready, hanna I?
MINNIE: Do you mean somebody is going to have a child by you?
LUTHER: Tha can chew it ower, if ter’s a mind.
MINNIE (helpless): But . . . (She struggles with herself, then goes calm.)
LUTHER: That’s what I say — but . . . !
A silence.
MINNIE: And who is she?
LUTHER: Thee, for a’ I know.
MINNIE (calmly, patiently): I asked you a question.
LUTHER: Ah — an’ I ‘eered thee.
MINNIE: Then answer me — who is she?
LUTHER: Tha knows well enow — tha knowed afore they’d towd thee —
MINNIE: Nobody has told me. Who is she?
LUTHER: Well, tha’s seed ‘er mother.
MINNIE (numb): Mrs Purdy?
LUTHER: Yi.
MINNIE: Their Bertha?
LUTHER: Yi.
A silence.
MINNIE: Why didn’t you tell me?
LUTHER: Tell thee what?
MINNIE: This.
LUTHER: Tha knowed afore I did.
MINNIE: I know now.
LUTHER: Me an’ a’.
A pause.
MINNIE: Didn’t you know till to-night?
LUTHER: Our Joe telled me when tha’d just gone — I niver dreamt afore — an’ then ‘er mother . . .
MINNIE: What did her mother come for?
LUTHER: Ter see if we could hush it up a’cause o’ thee, an’ gi’e ‘er a lump sum.
MINNIE: Hush it up because of me?
LUTHER: Ah — lay it ont’r an electrician as wor wi’ th’ gang as laid th’ cable down to Balford — he’s gone God knows where.
MINNIE: But it’s yours.
LUTHER: I know that.
MINNIE: Then why lay it onto somebody else?
LUTHER: Because o’ thee.
MINNIE: But why because of me?
LUTHER: To stop thee knowin’, I s’d think.
MINNIE: And why shouldn’t I know?
LUTHER: Eh, I dunno.
A pause.
MINNIE: And what were you going to do to stop me knowing?
LUTHER: ‘Er axed for forty pounds down.
MINNIE: And if you paid forty pounds, you got off scot-free?
LUTHER: Summat so.
MINNIE: And where were the forty pounds coming from?
LUTHER: Our Joe said ‘e’d lend ‘em me. I thought my mother would, but ‘er said ‘er wouldna — neither would she gi’e’t our Joe ter lend me, she said. For I wor a married man now, an’ it behoved my wife to look after me. An’ I thought tha knowed. I thought tha’d twigged, else bin telled. An’ I didna care, an’ dunna care.
MINNIE: And this is what you married me to!
LUTHER: This is what tha married me to. But I’ll niver ax thee for, no, not so much as the liftin’
of a finger — no —
MINNIE: But when you wrote and told me you were willing to marry me, why didn’t you tell me this?
LUTHER: Because — as I’ve telled thee — I didna know till this very mortal night.
MINNIE: But you knew you’d been with her.
LUTHER: Ay, I knowed that.
A pause.
MINNIE: And why didn’t you tell me?
LUTHER: What for should I tell thee? What good would it ha’ done thee? Tha niver towd me nowt.
MINNIE: So that is how you look at it?
LUTHER: I non care how I look at it.
A pause.
MINNIE: And was there anybody else?
LUTHER: How dost mean?
MINNIE: Have you been with any other woman?
LUTHER: I dunno — I might — I dunno.
MINNIE: That means you have.
LUTHER: I’m thirty.
MINNIE: And who were they?
LUTHER: I dunno. I’ve niver bin much wi’ anybody — little, very little — an’ then it wor an off-chance. Our Joe wor more that way than me — I worn’t that way.
A pause.
MINNIE: So — this was what I waited for you for!
LUTHER: Yha niver waited for me. Tha had me a’cause tha couldna get nobody better.
MINNIE: And so —
LUTHER (after a moment): Yi, an’ so. An’ so, I non care what ter does. If ter leaves me —
MINNIE (in a flash): What’s the good of me leaving you? Aren’t I married to you — tied to you?
LUTHER: Tha could leave me whether or not. I should go t’r Australia wi’ our Joe.
MINNIE: And what about that girl?
LUTHER: I should send ‘er th’ money.
MINNIE: And what about me?
LUTHER: Tha’d please thysen.
MINNIE: Should you like me to leave you, and let you go to Australia?
LUTHER: ‘Appen I should.
MINNIE: What did you marry me for?
LUTHER: ‘Cos tha axed me.
MINNIE: Did you never care for me?
He does not answer.
Didn’t you?
He does not answer.
Didn’t you?
LUTHER (slowly): You niver wanted me — you thought me dirt.
MINNIE: Ha! (A pause.) You can have the forty pounds.
LUTHER (very doggedly): I shanna.
MINNIE: She’s got to be paid.
LUTHER: Tha keeps thy money.
MINNIE: Then where shall you get it from?
LUTHER: I s’ll pay ‘er month by month.
MINNIE: But you can’t. Think!
LUTHER: Then I’ll borrow forty quid somewhere else, an’ pay it back i’ instalments. Tha keeps thy money.
MINNIE: You can borrow it from me.
LUTHER: I shall not.
MINNIE: Very well. I only wanted not to have the bother of paying month by month. I think I shall go back to my old place.
LUTHER: Tha pleases thysen.
MINNIE: And you can go and live with your mother again.
LUTHER: That I should niver do — but tha pleases thysen. We’ve bin married seven wik come Tuesday.
MINNIE: I niver ought to ha’ done it.
LUTHER: What?
MINNIE: Married you.
LUTHER: No.
MINNIE: For you never cared enough.
LUTHER: Yi — it’s my fault.
MINNIE: Yes.
LUTHER: It would be. Tha’s niver made a fault i’ thy life.
MINNIE: Who are you, to talk about my faults!
LUTHER: Well —
A pause.
MINNIE: I shall write to Mr Westlake to-morrow.
LUTHER: Tha does as pleases thee.
MINNIE: And if they can’t take me back straight away, I shall ask him if he knows another place.
LUTHER: A’right. An’ we’ll sell th’ furniture.
MINNIE (looking round at her home): Yes.
LUTHER: It’ll non bring ha’ef tha giv for’t — but it’ll bring enough ter ta’e me out theer.
MINNIE: I’ll make up what you lose by it, since I chose it.
LUTHER: Tha can give ter them as’ll ha’e.
MINNIE: But I shall feel I owe it you.
LUTHER: I’ve had six weeks o’ married life wi’ thee. I mun pay for that.
MINNIE: You are mean, mean.
LUTHER: I know — though tha’rt first as has telled me so. When dost reckon tha’lt go?
MINNIE: I’ll go to-morrow if you want to get rid of me.
LUTHER: Nay — tha does just as pleases thysen. I non want ter get rid on thee. Nay, nay, it’s not that. It’s thee as wants ter go.
MINNIE: At any rate, I s’ll have a place inside a fortnight.
LUTHER (dully): Alright.
MINNIE: So I shall have to trouble you till then.
LUTHER: But I dunna want thee ter do owt for me — no, I dunna.
MINNIE: I shall keep the house, in payment for my board and lodgings. And I’ll make the bed up in the back room, and I’ll sleep there, because it’s not furnished, and the house is yours.
LUTHER: Th’art — tha’rt — I wish I might strike thee down!
MINNIE: And I shall keep the account of every penny I spend, and you must just pay the bills.
LUTHER (rising suddenly): I’ll murder thee afore tha does.
He goes out. She sits twisting her apron. He returns with a large lump of coal in his hands, and rakes the fire.
MINNIE: You cared more for her than for me.
LUTHER: For who?
MINNIE: For her. She was the sort of sawney you ought to have had. Did she think you perfect?
LUTHER (with grim satisfaction): She liked me.
MINNIE: And you could do just as you wanted with her?
LUTHER: She’d ha’ done owt for me.
MINNIE: And it flattered you, did it? Because a long stalk wi’ no flower was at your service, it flattered you, did it? My word, it ought — As for your Joe, he’s not a fool like you, and that’s why women think more of him. He wouldn’t want a Bertha Purdy. He’d get a woman who was something — and because he knew how to appreciate her. You — what good are you?
LUTHER: I’m no good, but to fetch an’ carry.
MINNIE: And a tuppenny scullery-girl could do that as well.
LUTHER: Alright.
MINNIE: I’ll bet even Bertha Purdy thinks what a clown you are. She never wanted you to marry her, did she?
LUTHER: She knowed I wouldn’t.
MINNIE: You flatter yourself. I’ll bet she never wanted you. I shouldn’t be surprised if the child isn’t somebody else’s, that she just foists on you because you’re so soft.
LUTHER: Oh ah!
MINNIE: It even flatters you to think it’s yours.
LUTHER: Oh ah!
MINNIE: And quite right too — for it’s the only thing you could have to be proud of. And then really it’s not you . . .
LUTHER: Oh ah!
MINNIE: If a woman has a child, and you think you’re the cause, do you think it’s your doings?
LUTHER: If tha has one, it will be.
MINNIE: And is that anything for you to be proud of? Me whom you’ve insulted and deceived and treated as no snail would treat a woman! And then you expect me to bear your children!
LUTHER: I dunna expect thee. If tha does tha does.
MINNIE: And you gloat over it and feel proud of it!
Complete Works of D.H. Lawrence Page 722