The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne
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with indignation). How _dare_ you discuss me with your uncle, Sir! How dare you decide in this cold-blooded way whether I am to be called--ah--Tosh--or--ah--Porker!
CLIFTON. My uncle wouldn't bear of Tosh or Porker. He wanted a humorous name--a name he could roll lovingly round his tongue--a name expressing a sort of humorous contempt--Wurzel-Flummery! I can see now the happy ruminating smile which carne so often on my Uncle Antony's face in those latter months. He was thinking of his two Wurzel-Flummerys. I remember him saying once--it was at the Zoo--what a pity it was he hadn't enough to divide among the whole Cabinet. A whole bunch of Wurzel-Flummerys; it would have been rather jolly.
CRAWSHAW. You force me to say, sir, that if _that_ was the way you and your uncle used to talk together at his death can only be described as a merciful intervention of Providence.
CLIFTON. Oh, but I think he must be enjoying all this somewhere, you know. I hope he is. He would have loved this morning. It was his one regret that from the necessities of the case he could not live to enjoy his own joke; but he had hopes that echoes of it would reach him wherever he might be. It was with some such idea, I fancy, that toward the end he became interested in spiritualism.
CRAWSHAW (rising solemnly). Mr. Clifton, I have no interest in the present whereabouts of your uncle, nor in what means he has of overhearing a private conversation between you and myself. But if, as you irreverently suggest, he is listening to us, I should like him to hear this. That, in my opinion, you are not a qualified solicitor at all, that you never had an uncle, and that the whole story of the will and the ridiculous condition attached to it is just the tomfool joke of a man who, by his own admission, wastes most of his time writing unsuccessful farces. And I propose--
CLIFTON. Pardon my interrupting. But you said farces. Not farces, comedies--of a whimsical nature.
CRAWSHAW. Whatever they were, sir, I propose to report the whole matter to the Law Society. And you know your way out, sir.
CLIFTON. Then I am to understand that you refuse the legacy, Mr. Crawshaw?
CRAWSHAW (startled). What's that?
CLIFTON. I am to understand that you refuse the fifty thousand pounds?
CRAWSHAW. If the money is really there, I most certainly do not refuse it.
CLIFTON. Oh, the money is most certainly there--and the name. Both waiting for you.
CRAWSHAW (thumping the table). Then, Sir, I accept them. I feel it my duty to accept them, as a public expression of confidence in the late Mr. Clifton's motives. I repudiate entirely the motives that you have suggested to him, and I consider it a sacred duty to show what I think of your story by accepting the trust which he has bequeathed to me. You will arrange further matters with my solicitor. Good morning, Sir.
CLIFTON (to himself as he rises). Mr. Crawshaw here drank a glass of water. (To CRAWSHAW) Mr. Wurzel-Flummery, farewell. May I express the parting wish that your future career will add fresh lustre to--my name. (To himself as he goes out) Exit Mr. Denis Clifton with dignity. (But he has left his papers behind him.)
(CRAWSHAW, walking indignantly back to the sofa, sees the papers and picks them up.)
CRAWSHAW (contemptuously). "Watherston v. Towser--in re Great Missenden Canal Company" Bah! (He tears them up and throws them into the fare. He goes back to his writing-table and is seated there as VIOLA, followed by MERITON, comes in.)
VIOLA. Father, Dick doesn't want to take the money, but I have told him that of course he must. He must, mustn't he?
RICHARD. We needn't drag Robert into it, Viola.
CRAWSHAW. If Richard has the very natural feeling that it would be awkward for me if there were two Wurzel-Flummerys in the House of Commons, I should be the last to interfere with his decision. In any case, I don't see what concern it is of yours, Viola.
VIOLA (surprised). But how can we get married if he doesn't take the money?
CRAWSHAW (hardly understanding). Married? What does this mean, Richard?
RICHARD. I'm sorry it has come out like this. We ought to have told you before, but anyhow we were going to have told you in a day or two. Viola and I want to get married.
CRAWSHAW. And what did you want to get married on?
RICHARD (with a smile). Not very much, I'm afraid.
VIOLA. We're all right now, father, because we shall have fifty thousand pounds.
RICHARD (sadly). Oh, Viola, Viola!
CRAWSHAW. But naturally this puts a very different complexion on matters.
VIOLA. So of course he must take it, mustn't he, father?
CRAWSHAW. I can hardly suppose, Richard, that you expect me to entrust my daughter to a man who is so little provident for himself that he throws away fifty thousand pounds because of some fanciful objection to the name which goes with it.
RICHARD (in despair). You don't understand, Robert.
CRAWSHAW. I understand this, Richard. That if the name is good enough for me, it should be good enough for you. You don't mind asking Viola to take _your_ name, but you consider it an insult if you are asked to take _my_ name.
RICHARD (miserably to VIOLA). Do you want to be Mrs. Wurzel-Flummery?
VIOLA. Well, I'm going to be Miss Wurzel-Flummery anyhow, darling.
RICHARD (beaten). Heaven help me! you'll make me take it. But you'll never understand.
CRAWSHAW (stopping to administer comfort to him on his way out). Come, come, Richard. (Patting him on the shoulder) I understand perfectly. All that you were saying about money a little while ago-- it's all perfectly true, it's all just what I feel myself. But in practice we have to make allowances sometimes. We have to sacrifice our ideals for--ah--others. I shall be very proud to have you for a son-in-law, and to feel that there will be the two of us in Parliament together upholding the honour of the--ah--name. And perhaps now that we are to be so closely related, you may come to feel some day that your views could be--ah--more adequately put forward from _my_ side of the House.
RICHARD. Go on, Robert; I deserve it.
CRAWSHAW. Well, well! Margaret will be interested in our news. And you must send that solicitor a line--or perhaps a telephone message would be better. (He goes to the door and turns round just as he is going out.) Yes, I think the telephone, Richard; it would be safer. [Exit.]
RICHARD (holding out his hands to VIOLA). Come here, Mrs. Wurzel-Flummery.
VIOLA. Not Mrs. Wurzel-Flummery; Mrs. Dick. And soon, please, darling. (She comes to him.)
RICHARD (shaking his head sadly at her). I don't know what I've done, Viola. (Suddenly) But you're worth it. (He kisses her, and then says in a low voice) And God help me if I ever stop thinking so!
[Enter MR. DENIS CLIFTON. He sees them, and walks about very tactfully with his back towards them, humming to himself.]
RICHARD. Hullo!
CLIFTON (to himself). Now where did I put those papers? (He hums to himself again.) Now where--oh, I beg your pardon! I left some papers behind.
VIOLA. Dick, you'll tell him. (As she goes out, she says to CLIFTON) Good-bye, Mr. Clifton, and thank you for writing such nice letters.
CLIFTON. Good-bye, Miss Crawshaw.