The Collected Dramas of George Bernard Shaw (Illustrated Edition). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ But I was up to his tricks, sir. I saw the idea coming into his head as he stood there, thinking what new joke he’d have with me. Yes, sir: that’s the sort he is: very pleasant, ve — ry off hand and affable indeed, sir. (Again changing his tempo to say to Valentine, who is putting his stick down against the corner of the garden seat) If you’ll allow me, sir? (Taking Valentine’s stick.) Thank you, sir. (Valentine strolls up to the luncheon table and looks at the menu. The waiter turns to Crampton and resumes his lay.) Even the solicitor took up the joke, although he was in a manner of speaking in my confidence about the young gentleman, sir. Yes, sir, I assure you, sir. You would never imagine what respectable professional gentlemen from London will do on an outing, when the sea air takes them, sir.

      CRAMPTON. Oh, there’s a solicitor with them, is there?

      WAITER. The family solicitor, sir — yes, sir. Name of McComas, sir. (He goes towards hotel entrance with coat and stick, happily unconscious of the bomblike effect the name has produced on Crampton.)

      CRAMPTON (rising in angry alarm). McComas! (Calls to Valentine.) Valentine! (Again, fiercely.) Valentine!! (Valentine turns.) This is a plant, a conspiracy. This is my family — my children — my infernal wife.

      VALENTINE (coolly). On, indeed! Interesting meeting! (He resumes his study of the menu.)

      CRAMPTON. Meeting! Not for me. Let me out of this. (Calling to the waiter.) Give me that coat.

      WAITER. Yes, sir. (He comes back, puts Valentine’s stick carefully down against the luncheon table; and delicately shakes the coat out and holds it for Crampton to put on.) I seem to have done the young gentleman an injustice, sir, haven’t I, sir.

      CRAMPTON. Rrrh! (He stops on the point of putting his arms into the sleeves, and turns to Valentine with sudden suspicion.) Valentine: you are in this. You made this plot. You —

      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 — (McComas, followed by Philip and Dolly, comes out. He vacillates for a moment on seeing Crampton.)

      WAITER (softly — interrupting Crampton). Steady, sir. Here they come, sir. (He takes up the stick and makes for the hotel, throwing the coat across his arm. McComas turns the corners of his mouth resolutely down and crosses to Crampton, who draws back and glares, with his hands behind him. McComas, with his brow opener than ever, confronts him in the majesty of a spotless conscience.)

      WAITER (aside, as he passes Philip on his way out). I’ve 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.)

      McCOMAS (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. McComas?

      McCOMAS. Yes — er — (He loses countenance himself and stops.)

      DOLLY (conventionally). Pleased to meet you again. (She wanders idly round the table, exchanging a smile and a word of greeting 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 the 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 conscious 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?

      McCOMAS (firmly). Apollinaris only. I prefer to take 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. Dolly takes it. (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 mustn’t call me child. (She slips her arm through Philip’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). McComas: we are — ha! — going to have a pleasant meal.

      McCOMAS (pusillanimously). There is no reason why it should not be pleasant. (He looks abjectly gloomy.)

      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 perfect 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: that’s the change you meant, I think. (Breaking out suddenly.) Look at her, McComas! Look at her; and look at me! (He utters a half laugh, half sob.)

      PHILIP. Sh! (Pointing to the hotel entrance, where the waiter has just appeared.) Order before William!

      DOLLY (touching Crampton’s arm warningly with her finger). 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 all assemble about the table). I think you have all met one another already to-day. Oh, no, excuse me. (Introducing) Mr. Valentine: Mr. McComas. (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!

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