60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ sir.

      PHILIP. You don’t 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 won’t care for the joint in the middle of the day.

      GLORIA. No, thank you. (The fish plates are removed.)

      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.

      McCOMAS (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.

      McCOMAS (embarrassed). I’m sure I beg your pardon.

      WAITER. Not at all, sir. Very natural mistake, I’m sure, sir. I’ve 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.

      McCOMAS. 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 McComas.) 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 won’t 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!! You’re 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.)

      McCOMAS (making a fresh effort to lead the conversation into dispassionate regions). 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 they’ve 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, ma’am: yes, ma’am, 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! What’s the subscription?

      CRAMPTON (rising violently amid general consternation). You see how my children have been brought up, McComas. 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 (take aback). What? Oh! — cheese, cheese.

      DOLLY. Bring a box of cigarettes, William.

      WAITER. All ready, miss. (He takes a box of cigarettes from the service table and places them before Dolly, who selects one and prepares to smoke. He then returns to his table for a box of vestas.)

      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 cigarette on the beach. (She leaves the table with petulant suddenness and goes down the steps. The waiter attempts to give her the matches; but she is gone before he can reach her.)

      CRAMPTON (furiously). Margaret: call that girl back. Call her back, I say.

      McCOMAS (trying to make peace). Come, Crampton: never mind. She’s her father’s daughter: that’s 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. Crampton’s eyes follow her with bitter hatred. The rest watch her in embarrassed silence, feeling the incident to be a very painful one.)

      WAITER (intercepting her at the top of the steps and offering her a box of vestas). Young lady forgot the matches, ma’am. If you would be so good, ma’am.

      MRS. CLANDON (surprised into grateful politeness by the witchery of his sweet and cheerful tones). Thank you very much. (She takes the matches and goes down to the beach. The waiter 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). There’s a mother for you, McComas! There’s a mother for you!

      GLORIA (steadfastly). Yes: a good mother.

      CRAMPTON. And a bad father? That’s 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 СКАЧАТЬ