John Galsworthy
The Silver Box: A Comedy in Three Acts
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
JOHN BARTHWICK, M.P., a wealthy Liberal
MRS. BARTHWICK, his wife
JACK BARTHWICK, their son
ROPER, their solicitor
MRS. JONES, their charwoman
MARLOW, their manservant
WHEELER, their maidservant
JONES, the stranger within their gates
MRS. SEDDON, a landlady
SNOW, a detective
A POLICE MAGISTRATE
AN UNKNOWN LADY, from beyond
TWO LITTLE GIRLS, homeless
LIVENS, their father
A RELIEVING OFFICER
A MAGISTRATE'S CLERK
AN USHER POLICEMEN, CLERKS, AND OTHERS
TIME: The present. The action of the first two Acts takes place on Easter Tuesday; the action of the third on Easter Wednesday week.
ACT I
SCENE I
The curtain rises on the BARTHWICK'S dining-room, large, modern, and well furnished; the window curtains drawn. Electric light is burning. On the large round dining-table is set out a tray with whisky, a syphon, and a silver cigarette-box. It is past midnight. A fumbling is heard outside the door. It is opened suddenly; JACK BARTHWICK seems to fall into the room. He stands holding by the door knob, staring before him, with a beatific smile. He is in evening dress and opera hat, and carries in his hand a sky-blue velvet lady's reticule. His boyish face is freshly coloured and clean-shaven. An overcoat is hanging on his arm.
JACK. Hello! I've got home all ri – Who says I sh'd never 've opened th' door without 'sistance. Serve her joll' well right – everything droppin' out. Th' cat. I 've scored her off – I 've got her bag. Serves her joly' well right. Never gave tha' fellow anything! Beastly shilling! Base ingratitude! Absolutely nothing. Mus' tell him I've got absolutely nothing.
JACK. Sh! sh! sh! Don't you make a noise, whatever you do. Shu' the door, an' have a drink. You helped me to open the door – I 've got nothin, for you. This is my house. My father's name's Barthwick; he's Member of Parliament – Liberal Member of Parliament: I've told you that before. Have a drink! I'm not drunk Tha's all right. Wha's your name? My name's Barthwick, so's my father's; I'm a Liberal too – wha're you?
JONES. I'm a bloomin' Conservative. My name's Jones! My wife works 'ere; she's the char; she works 'ere.
JACK. Jones? There's 'nother Jones at College with me. I'm not a Socialist myself; I'm a Liberal – there's ve – lill difference, because of the principles of the Lib – Liberal Party. We're all equal before the law – tha's rot, tha's silly. Wha' was I about to say? Give me some whisky.
Wha' I was goin' tell you was – I 've had a row with her. Have a drink, Jonessh 'd never have got in without you – tha 's why I 'm giving you a drink. Don' care who knows I've scored her off. Th' cat! Don' you make a noise, whatever you do. You pour out a drink – you make yourself good long, long drink – you take cigarette – you take anything you like. Sh'd never have got in without you. You're a Tory – you're a Tory Socialist. I'm Liberal myself – have a drink – I 'm an excel'nt chap.
JONES. Been on the tiles and brought 'ome some of yer cat's fur.
JACK. I 've scored you off! You cat!
JONES. Fat lot o' things they've got 'ere! More cat's fur. Puss, puss! Calf! Fat calf! I 'll score you off too, that 's wot I 'll do!
The curtain falls.
The curtain rises again at once.
SCENE II
In the BARTHWICK'S dining-room. JACK is still asleep; the morning light is coming through the curtains. The time is half-past eight. WHEELER, brisk person enters with a dust-pan, and MRS. JONES more slowly with a scuttle.
WHEELER. That precious husband of yours was round for you after you'd gone yesterday, Mrs. Jones. Wanted your money for drink, I suppose. He hangs about the corner here half the time. I saw him outside the "Goat and Bells" when I went to the post last night. If I were you I would n't live with him. I would n't live with a man that raised his hand to me. I wouldn't put up with it. Why don't you take your children and leave him? If you put up with 'im it'll only make him worse. I never can see why, because a man's married you, he should knock you about.
MRS. JONES. It was nearly two last night before he come home, and he wasn't himself. He made me get up, and he knocked me about; he didn't seem to know what he was saying or doing. Of course I would leave him, but I'm really afraid of what he'd do to me. He 's such a violent man when he's not himself.
WHEELER. Why don't you get him locked up? You'll never have any peace until you get him locked up. If I were you I'd go to the police court tomorrow. That's what I would do.
MRS. JONES. Of course I ought to go, because he does treat me so badly when he's not himself. But you see, Bettina, he has a very hard time – he 's been out of work two months, and it preys upon his mind. When he's in work he behaves himself much better. It's when he's out of work that he's so violent.
WHEELER. Well, if you won't take any steps you 'll never get rid of him.
MRS. JONES. Of course it's very wearing to me; I don't get my sleep at nights. And it 's not as if I were getting help from him, because I have to do for the children and all of us. And he throws such dreadful things up at me, talks of my having men to follow me about. Such a thing never happens; no man ever speaks to me. And of course, it's just the other way. It's what he does that's wrong and makes me so unhappy. And then he 's always threatenin' to cut my throat if I leave him. It's all the drink, and things preying on his mind; he 's not a bad man really. Sometimes he'll speak quite kind to me, but I've stood so much from him, I don't feel it in me to speak kind back, but just keep myself to myself. And he's all right with the children too, except when he's not himself.
WHEELER. You mean when he's drunk, the beauty.
MRS. JONES. Yes. There's the young gentleman asleep on the sofa.
MRS. JONES. He does n't look quite himself.
WHEELER. He's a young limb, that's what he is. It 's my belief he was tipsy last night, like your husband. It 's another kind of bein' out of work that sets him to drink. I 'll go and tell Marlow. This is his job.
JACK. Who's there? What is it?
MRS. JONES. It's me, sir, Mrs. Jones.
JACK. Where is it – what – what time is it?
MRS. JONES. It's getting on for nine o'clock, sir.
JACK. For nine! Why – what! Look here, you, Mrs. – Mrs. Jones – don't you say you caught me asleep here.
MRS. JONES. No, sir, of course I won't sir.
JACK. It's quite an accident; I don't know how it happened. I must have forgotten to go to bed. It's a queer thing. I 've got a most beastly headache. Mind you don't say anything, Mrs. Jones.
MARLOW. Not the first time, and won't be the last. Looked a bit dicky, eh, Mrs. Jones?
MRS. JONES. He did n't look quite himself. Of course I did n't take notice.
MARLOW. You're used to them. How's your old man?
MRS. JONES. Well, he was very bad last night; he did n't seem to know what he was about. He was very late, and he was most abusive. But now, of course, he's asleep.
MARLOW. That's his way of finding a job, eh?
MRS. JONES. As a rule, Mr. Marlow, he goes out early every morning looking for work, and sometimes he comes in fit to drop – and of course I can't say he does n't try to get it, because he does. Trade's very bad. But he's not a good husband to me – last night he hit me, and he was so dreadfully abusive.
MARLOW. Bank 'oliday, eh! He 's too fond of the "Goat and Bells," that's what's the matter with him. I see him at the corner late every night. He hangs about.
MRS. JONES. He gets to feeling very low walking about all day after work, and being refused so often, and then when he gets a drop in him it goes to his head. But he shouldn't treat his wife as he treats me. Sometimes I 've had to go and walk about at night, when he wouldn't let me stay in the room; but he's sorry for it afterwards. And he hangs about after me, he waits for me in the street; and I don't think he ought to, because I 've always been a good wife to him. And I tell him Mrs. Barthwick wouldn't like him coming about the place. But that only makes him angry, and he says dreadful things about the gentry. Of course it was through me that he first lost his place, through his not treating me right; and that's made him bitter against the gentry. He had a very good place as groom in the country; but it made such a stir, because of course he did n't treat me right.
MARLOW. Got the sack?
MRS. JONES. Yes; his employer said he couldn't keep him, because there was a great deal of talk; and he said it was such a bad example. But it's very important for me to keep my work here; I have the three children, and I don't want him to come about after me in the streets, and make a disturbance as he sometimes does.
MARLOW. Not a drain! Next time he hits you get a witness and go down to the court —
MRS. JONES. Yes, I think I 've made up my mind. I think I ought to.
MARLOW. That's right. Where's the ciga – ?
Nestor – where the deuce – ?
MARLOW. Have you seen the cigarette-box?
WHEELER. No.
MARLOW. Well, it's gone. I put it on the tray last night. And he's been smoking. It's not in these pockets. He can't have taken it upstairs this morning! Have a good look in his room when he comes down. Who's been in here?
WHEELER. Only me and Mrs. Jones.
MRS. JONES. I 've finished here; shall I do the drawing-room now?
WHEELER. Have you seen – Better do the boudwower first.
MARLOW. It'll turn up.
WHEELER. You don't think she –
MARLOW. I don't – I never believes anything of anybody.
WHEELER. But the master'll have to be told.
MARLOW. You wait a bit, and see if it don't turn up. Suspicion's no business of ours. I set my mind against it.
The curtain falls.
The curtain rises again at once.
SCENE III
BARTHWICK and MRS. BARTHWICK are seated at the breakfast table. He is a man between fifty and sixty; quietly important, with a bald forehead, and pince-nez, and the "Times" in his hand. She is a lady of nearly fifty, well dressed, with greyish hair, good features, and a decided manner. They face each other.
BARTHWICK. The Labour man has got in at the by-election for Barnside, my dear.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Another Labour? I can't think what on earth the country is about.
BARTHWICK. I predicted it. It's not a matter of vast importance.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Not? How can you take it so calmly, John? To me it's simply outrageous. And there you sit, you Liberals, and pretend to encourage these people!
BARTHWICK. The representation of all parties is necessary for any proper reform, for any proper social policy.
MRS. BARTHWICK. I've no patience with your talk of reform – all that nonsense about social policy. We know perfectly well what it is they want; they want things for themselves. Those Socialists and Labour men are an absolutely selfish set of people. They have no sense of patriotism, like the upper classes; they simply want what we've got.
BARTHWICK. Want what we've got! My dear, what are you talking about? I 'm no alarmist.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Cream? Quite uneducated men! Wait until they begin to tax our investments. I 'm convinced that when they once get a chance they will tax everything – they 've no feeling for the country. You Liberals and Conservatives, you 're all alike; you don't see an inch before your noses. You've no imagination, not a scrap of imagination between you. You ought to join hands and nip it in the bud.
BARTHWICK. You 're talking nonsense! How is it possible for Liberals and Conservatives to join hands, as you call it? That shows how absurd it is for women – Why, the very essence of a Liberal is to trust in the people!
MRS. BARTHWICK. Now, John, eat your breakfast. As if there were any real difference between you and the Conservatives. All the upper classes have the same interests to protect, and the same principles. Oh! you're sitting upon a volcano, John.
BARTHWICK. What!
MRS. BARTHWICK. I read a letter in the paper yesterday. I forget the man's name, but it made the whole thing perfectly clear. You don't look things in the face.
BARTHWICK. Indeed! I am a Liberal! Drop the subject, please!
MRS. BARTHWICK. Toast? I quite agree with what this man says: Education is simply ruining the lower classes. It unsettles them, and that's the worst thing for us all. I see an enormous difference in the manner of servants.
BARTHWICK, I welcome any change that will lead to something better. H'm! This is that affair of Master Jack's again. "High Street, Oxford. Sir, We have received Mr. John Barthwick, Senior's, draft for forty pounds!" Oh! the letter's to him! "We now enclose the cheque you cashed with us, which, as we stated in our previous letter, was not met on presentation at your bank. We are, Sir, yours obediently, Moss and Sons, Tailors." H 'm! A pretty business altogether! The boy might have been prosecuted.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Come, John, you know Jack did n't mean anything; he only thought he was overdrawing. I still think his bank ought to have cashed that cheque. They must know your position.
BARTHWICK. Much good that would have done him in a court of law.
JACK. Sorry I 'm late. Tea, please, mother. Any letters for me? But look here, I say, this has been opened! I do wish you would n't —
BARTHWICK. I suppose I 'm entitled to this name.
JACK. Well, I can't help having your name, father! Brutes!
BARTHWICK. You don't deserve to be so well out of that.
JACK. Haven't you ragged me enough, dad?
MRS. BARTHWICK. Yes, John, let Jack have his breakfast.
BARTHWICK. If you hadn't had me to come to, where would you have been? It's the merest accident – suppose you had been the son of a poor man or a clerk. Obtaining money with a cheque you knew your bank could not meet. It might have ruined you for life. I can't see what's to become of you if these are your principles. I never did anything of the sort myself.
JACK. I expect you always had lots of money. If you've got plenty of money, of course —
BARTHWICK. On the contrary, I had not your advantages. My father kept me very short of money.
JACK. How much had you, dad?
BARTHWICK. It's not material. The question is, do you feel the gravity of what you did?
JACK. I don't know about the gravity. Of course, I 'm very sorry if you think it was wrong. Have n't I said so! I should never have done it at all if I had n't been so jolly hard up.
BARTHWICK. How m