id="id00387">[They stand below the table, one on either side, tense with passion. They remain so.]

[MANSON and ROGERS come in with the breakfast. ROGERS goes out immediately.]

MANSON. Sorry to have delayed, sir; but you said a quarter to nine, didn't you, sir?

VICAR. Yes.

MANSON. Breakfasts served, ma'am. It's served, sir.

[They move to the table, absently, first one, then the other, as he goes to each separately.]

[MANSON serves them in silence for a few moments.]

Beg pardon, sir: what time did you expect the Bishop of Benares?

VICAR. Oh!—During the morning, he said. That will mean the twelve-thirty, I suppose. It's the only convenient service.

MANSON. And the Bishop of Lancashire, ma'am?

AUNTIE. He didn't say; but I think we may expect him by the same train. He would scarcely think of catching the . . .

[There is heard a loud Ringing of the Bell—a bishop at the very least. All three heads turn automatically.]

Good gracious! Already!

MANSON. It doesn't sound like the Bishop of Benares, ma'am. He generally comes very quietly.

AUNTIE. Quick!

MANSON. Yes, ma'am.

[He goes out by the main door.]

AUNTIE [rapidly], William, I'm sorry! Really, I didn't mean you: I never thought of you; I was only thinking of Robert. I only think of you as a great scholar and a saint—yes, you are one!—and as the man I love! I would sacrifice everything to your happiness. Robert's nothing to me; that's why I . . . Think of what it might mean to Mary—we must think of others, William!—our own little child, as we try to imagine . . .

[The VICAR makes a gesture of anguish.]

As for James, God knows I did it for the best. I love you, my dear, I love you: I wouldn't have vexed you for the world! After all, he is my brother, William! . . . . I thought of patching up the enmity between you: I thought of all your hopes of rebuilding the church, and James was the only rich man I thought might be induced—under the circumstances . . .

VICAR. I am in the darkness. I don't know what to do. God has left me stranded.

[MANSON re-enters. They look at him inquiringly.]

MANSON. It isn't the Bishop of Benares, ma'am.

AUNTIE. Well, who is it?

MANSON. I didn't ask his name, ma'am.

AUNTIE. T-t-t! How is he dressed?

MANSON. Rather oddly, ma'am: I noticed that his legs . . .

AUNTIE. William, it's James! I can't be seen like this. Shew him in. I can slip out this way.

[MANSON goes out.]

William, try and treat him like . . .

VICAR. How? Like a brother?

AUNTIE. I was going to say, like a Priest and a Christian, William.

VICAR. Like a Christian, then.

AUNTIE. My dear!

[She goes out by the door to the right, as MANSON begins to turn the handle of the other door.]

MANSON [outside]. This way, if you please.

[The VICAR, braces himself up and turns towards the door with an effort at cordiality.]

VICAR. Just in time for breakfast, my lord.

[Enter ROBERT SMITH and MANSON. ROBERT'S costume is a navvy's, the knees tied With string.]

ROBERT [grimly]. Thanks, Bill Awlmighty, don't mind if I do. My belly's fair aching.

VICAR. Robert!

ROBERT. Yus, it's me, my 'oly brother!

VICAR. Didn't you—didn't you get my wire?

ROBERT. Yus, I gorit-: Drains wrong, eh? Thought I'd like to 'av' a look at 'em—my job, yer know, drains! So you'll excuse the togs: remind you of old days, eh what?

VICAR. Robert, what have you come here for?

ROBERT. You arsk me that?

VICAR. Yes, I do. Bob . . .

ROBERT. Why, to see my little gel, o' course—Gawd curse you! . . .

Now go an tell your ole woman.

[The VICAR stands as though stricken.]

Did you 'ear me speak? Tell 'er!

[The VICAR wavers a moment, and then staggers out silently through the door, right. ROBERT watches him off with a look of iron. He pays no heed to MANSON, who stands quite close to him, on the left.]

See that blighter? That's the bloke as was born with no bowels! 'E might a-made a man o' me once, if 'e'd tried; but 'e didn't—'im and 'is like. Hm! Dam foolish, I call it, don't you?

MANSON. Yes, both: foolish and—damned!

[ROBERT turns and looks into his face for the first time as the curtain slowly falls on the First Act.]

THE SECOND ACT

As the curtain rises, the scene and situation remain unchanged. Presently, Robert, having completed his inspection of the other's face and costume, moves away with a characteristic interjection.

ROBERT. Oh, Jeeroosalem! . . .

'Ere, 'elp us orf, comride: I'm wet through. Rainin' cats an' dorgs dahn at the Junction! 'Ere, I cawn't . . . Wot oh! The very identical! . . .

[MANSON has helped him off with his coat, and now hands him the cassock.]

[Getting into it.] Don't know oo you are, ole pal, but you're a bit of orl right! . . . Don't I look a corf-drop? 'Ere, where ye teking it to? . . .

[He watches MANSON suspiciously as he places his coat before the fire to dry.]

Bit 'andy, ain't yer? . . .

So this is where 'e lives! A bloomin' palace, as never I did see! . . .

[MANSON prepares a place for him at the table, and pours out a cup of tea, etc.]

Right you are, ole comride! 'E said breakfast, an' breakfast it shall be, I don't fink! Blimey! Sossingers! Ain't 'ad the taste of sossingers in my gizzard for I don't know 'ow long!

[He sits and devours whilst MANSON breaks and hands him bread, waiting upon him.]

[Between bites.] Wouldn't think as I was 'is brother, would yer—not to look at me? But strooth, I am; an' wot's more, 'e cawn't deny it! . . . [He labours with a little joke.] There's a lot o' brothers knockin' abaht as people don't know on, eh what? See wot I mean? [Suddenly serious.] Not as I'm one o' them sort, mind yer: my father married my mother honest, same as I married my little . . .

[After a moment's reflection, he makes fresh onslaught upon the sausages. Presently he looks up.]

'Ere, ain't you goin' ter 'av' none? . . . Cawn't yer speak?

MANSON. Yes.

ROBERT. Well, why cawn't yer arnser a bloke when 'e arsks yer civil?

MANSON. You didn't make it dear that you wanted to eat with me.

ROBERT. Want a bit of 'eart in it, eh?

MANSON. Yes, that's all.

ROBERT [largely]. Sit dahn, ole pal! Mek yourself at 'ome!

[MANSON obeys.]

See, wot was I tawkin' abaht. Just afore you turned narsty?

MANSON. You were going to say something about—your little girl's mother.

[ROBERT'S cutlery bristles up like bayonets.]

ROBERT. Look 'ere, mate, don't you come tryin' it on with me! I don't care oo you are!