The Silver Box. Galsworthy John
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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! [Heavily.] 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, [With suspicious emphasis.] I welcome any change that will lead to something better. [He opens a letter.] 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! [Staring at the cheque.] 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. [Replacing in the envelope the letter and the cheque.] Much good that would have done him in a court of law.
[He stops as JACK comes in, fastening his waistcoat and staunching a razor cut upon his chin.]
JACK. [Sitting down between them, and speaking with an artificial joviality.] Sorry I 'm late. [He looks lugubriously at the dishes.] Tea, please, mother. Any letters for me? [BARTHWICK hands the letter to him.] But look here, I say, this has been opened! I do wish you would n't —
BARTHWICK. [Touching the envelope.] I suppose I 'm entitled to this name.
JACK. [Sulkily.] Well, I can't help having your name, father! [He reads the letter, and mutters.] Brutes!
BARTHWICK. [Eyeing him.] 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 much of that forty pounds have you got left, Jack?
JACK. [Hesitating.] I don't know – not much.
BARTHWICK. How much?
JACK. [Desperately.] I have n't got any.
BARTHWICK. What?
JACK. I know I 've got the most beastly headache.
[He leans his head on his hand.]
MRS. BARTHWICK. Headache? My dear boy! Can't you eat any breakfast?
JACK. [Drawing in his breath.] Too jolly bad!
MRS. BARTHWICK. I'm so sorry. Come with me; dear; I'll give you something that will take it away at once.
[They leave the room; and BARTHWICK, tearing up the letter, goes to the fireplace and puts the pieces in the fire. While he is doing this MARLOW comes in, and looking round him, is about quietly to withdraw.]
BARTHWICK. What's that? What d 'you want?
MARLOW. I was looking for Mr. John, sir.
BARTHWICK. What d' you want Mr. John for?
MARLOW. [With hesitation.] I thought I should find him here, sir.
BARTHWICK. [Suspiciously.] Yes, but what do you want him for?
MARLOW. [Offhandedly.] There's a lady called – asked to speak to him for a minute, sir.
BARTHWICK. A lady, at this time in the morning. What sort of a lady?
MARLOW. [Without expression in his voice.] I can't tell, sir; no particular sort. She might be after charity. She might be a Sister of Mercy, I should think, sir.
BARTHWICK. Is she dressed like one?
MARLOW. No, sir, she's in plain clothes, sir.
BARTHWICK. Did n't she say what she wanted?
MARLOW. No sir.
BARTHWICK. Where did you leave her?
MARLOW. In the hall, sir.
BARTHWICK. In the hall? How do you know she's not a thief – not got designs on the house?
MARLOW. No, sir, I don't fancy so, sir.
BARTHWICK. Well, show her in here; I'll see her myself.
[MARLOW goes out with a private gesture of dismay. He soon returns, ushering in a young pale lady with dark eyes and pretty figure, in a modish, black, but rather shabby dress, a black and white trimmed hat with a bunch of Parma violets wrongly placed, and fuzzy-spotted veil. At the Sight of MR. BARTHWICK she exhibits every sign of nervousness. MARLOW goes out.]
UNKNOWN LADY. Oh! but – I beg pardon there's some mistake – I [She turns to fly.]
BARTHWICK. Whom did you want to see, madam?
UNKNOWN. [Stopping and looking back.] It was Mr. John Barthwick I wanted to see.
BARTHWICK. I am John Barthwick, madam. What can I have the pleasure of doing for you?
UNKNOWN. Oh! I – I don't [She drops her eyes. BARTHWICK scrutinises her, and purses his lips.]
BARTHWICK. It was my son, perhaps, you wished to see?
UNKNOWN. [Quickly.] Yes, of course, it's your son.
BARTHWICK. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of speaking to?
UNKNOWN. [Appeal and hardiness upon her face.] My name is – oh! it does n't matter – I don't want to make any fuss. I just want to see your son for a minute. [Boldly.] In fact, I must see him.
BARTHWICK. [Controlling his uneasiness.] My son is not very well. If necessary, no doubt I could attend to the matter; be so kind as to let me know —
UNKNOWN. Oh! but I must see him – I 've come on purpose – [She bursts out nervously.] I don't want to make any fuss, but the fact is, last – last night your son took away – he took away my [She stops.]
BARTHWICK. [Severely.] Yes, madam, what?
UNKNOWN. He took away my – my reticule.
BARTHWICK. Your reti – ?
UNKNOWN. I don't care about the reticule; it's not that I want – I 'm sure I don't want to make any fuss – [her face is quivering] – but – but – all my money was in it!
BARTHWICK. In what – in what?
UNKNOWN. In my purse, in the reticule. It was a crimson silk purse. Really, I wouldn't have come – I don't want to make any fuss. But I must get my money back – mustn't I?
BARTHWICK. Do you tell me that my son – ?
UNKNOWN. Oh! well, you see, he was n't quite I mean he was
[She smiles mesmerically.]
BARTHWICK. I beg your pardon.
UNKNOWN. [Stamping her foot.] Oh! don't you see – tipsy! We had a quarrel.
BARTHWICK.