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

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СКАЧАТЬ as angrily as he dares). My name is Crampton, sir.

      BOHUN. Oh, indeed. (Passing him over without further notice and turning to Valentine.) Are you Mr. Clandon?

      VALENTINE (making it a point of honor not to be impressed by him). Do I look like it? My name is Valentine. I did the drugging.

      BOHUN. Ah, quite so. Then Mr. Clandon has not yet arrived?

      WAITER (entering anxiously through the window). Beg pardon, ma’am; but can you tell me what became of that — (He recognizes Bohun, and loses all his self-possession. Bohun waits rigidly for him to pull himself together. After a pathetic exhibition of confusion, he recovers himself sufficiently to address Bohun weakly but coherently.) Beg pardon, sir, I’m sure, sir. Was — was it you, sir?

      BOHUN (ruthlessly). It was I.

      WAITER (brokenly). Yes, sir. (Unable to restrain his tears.) You in a false nose, Walter! (He sinks faintly into a chair at the table.) I beg pardon, ma’am, I’m sure. A little giddiness —

      BOHUN (commandingly). You will excuse him, Mrs. Clandon, when I inform you that he is my father.

      WAITER (heartbroken). Oh, no, no, Walter. A waiter for your father on the top of a false nose! What will they think of you?

      MRS. CLANDON (going to the waiter’s chair in her kindest manner). I am delighted to hear it, Mr. Bohun. Your father has been an excellent friend to us since we came here. (Bohun bows gravely.)

      WAITER (shaking his head). Oh, no, ma’am. It’s very kind of you — very ladylike and affable indeed, ma’am; but I should feel at a great disadvantage off my own proper footing. Never mind my being the gentleman’s father, ma’am: it is only the accident of birth after all, ma’am. (He gets up feebly.) You’ll all excuse me, I’m sure, having interrupted your business. (He begins to make his way along the table, supporting himself from chair to chair, with his eye on the door.)

      BOHUN. One moment. (The waiter stops, with a sinking heart.) My father was a witness of what passed to-day, was he not, Mrs. Clandon?

      MRS. CLANDON. Yes, most of it, I think.

      BOHUN. In that case we shall want him.

      WAITER (pleading). I hope it may not be necessary, sir. Busy evening for me, sir, with that ball: very busy evening indeed, sir.

      BOHUN (inexorably). We shall want you.

      MRS. CLANDON (politely). Sit down, won’t you?

      WAITER (earnestly). Oh, if you please, ma’am, I really must draw the line at sitting down. I couldn’t let myself be seen doing such a thing, ma’am: thank you, I am sure, all the same. (He looks round from face to face wretchedly, with an expression that would melt a heart of stone.)

      GLORIA. Don’t let us waste time. William only wants to go on taking care of us. I should like a cup of coffee.

      WAITER (brightening perceptibly). Coffee, miss? (He gives a little gasp of hope.) Certainly, miss. Thank you, miss: very timely, miss, very thoughtful and considerate indeed. (To Mrs. Clandon, timidly but expectantly.) Anything for you, ma’am?

      MRS. CLANDON Er — oh, yes: it’s so hot, I think we might have a jug of claret cup.

      WAITER (beaming). Claret cup, ma’am! Certainly, ma’am.

      GLORIA Oh, well I’ll have a claret cup instead of coffee. Put some cucumber in it.

      WAITER (delighted). Cucumber, miss! yes, miss. (To Bohun.) Anything special for you, sir? You don’t like cucumber, sir.

      BOHUN. If Mrs. Clandon will allow me — syphon — Scotch.

      WAITER. Right, sir. (To Crampton.) Irish for you, sir, I think, sir? (Crampton assents with a grunt. The waiter looks enquiringly at Valentine.)

      VALENTINE. I like the cucumber.

      WAITER. Right, sir. (Summing up.) Claret cup, syphon, one Scotch and one Irish?

      MRS. CLANDON. I think that’s right.

      WAITER (perfectly happy). Right, ma’am. Directly, ma’am. Thank you. (He ambles off through the window, having sounded the whole gamut of human happiness, from the bottom to the top, in a little over two minutes.)

      McCOMAS. We can begin now, I suppose?

      BOHUN. We had better wait until Mrs. Clandon’s husband arrives.

      CRAMPTON. What d’y’ mean? I’m her husband.

      BOHUN (instantly pouncing on the inconsistency between this and his previous statement). You said just now your name was Crampton.

      CRAMPTON. So it is.

      MRS. CLANDON } (all four { I —

      GLORIA } speaking { My —

      McCOMAS } simul- { Mrs. —

      VALENTINE } taneously). { You —

      BOHUN (drowning them in two thunderous words). One moment. (Dead silence.) Pray allow me. Sit down everybody. (They obey humbly. Gloria takes the saddlebag chair on the hearth. Valentine slips around to her side of the room and sits on the ottoman facing the window, so that he can look at her. Crampton sits on the ottoman with his back to Valentine’s. Mrs. Clandon, who has all along kept at the opposite side of the room in order to avoid Crampton as much as possible, sits near the door, with McComas beside her on her left. Bohun places himself magisterially in the centre of the group, near the corner of the table on Mrs. Clandon’s side. When they are settled, he fixes Crampton with his eye, and begins.) In this family, it appears, the husband’s name is Crampton: the wife’s Clandon. Thus we have on the very threshold of the case an element of confusion.

      VALENTINE (getting up and speaking across to him with one knee on the ottoman). But it’s perfectly simple.

      BOHUN (annihilating him with a vocal thunderbolt). It is. Mrs. Clandon has adopted another name. That is the obvious explanation which you feared I could not find out for myself. You mistrust my intelligence, Mr. Valentine — (Stopping him as he is about to protest.) No: I don’t want you to answer that: I want you to think over it when you feel your next impulse to interrupt me.

      VALENTINE (dazed). This is simply breaking a butterfly on a wheel. What does it matter? (He sits down again.)

      BOHUN. I will tell you what it matters, sir. It matters that if this family difference is to be smoothed over as we all hope it may be, Mrs. Clandon, as a matter of social convenience and decency, will have to resume her husband’s name. (Mrs. Clandon assumes an expression of the most determined obstinacy.) Or else Mr. Crampton will have to call himself Mr. Clandon. (Crampton looks indomitably resolved to do nothing of the sort.) No doubt you think that an easy matter, Mr. Valentine. (He looks pointedly at Mrs. Clandon, then at Crampton.) I differ from you. (He throws himself back in his chair, frowning heavily.)

      McCOMAS (timidly). I think, Bohun, we had perhaps better dispose of the important questions first.

      BOHUN. McComas: there will be no difficulty about the important questions. There never is. It is the trifles that will wreck you at the harbor mouth. (McComas looks as if he considered this a paradox.) СКАЧАТЬ