CIHM ICMH Microfiche Coliection de Series microfiches (iMonographs) (monographies) Ctwdlii Inrthuf for Miworlcrt M l cior«p io d i ictiont / imtltiit ciwditi d> mtefo w proi. Not VMi 14101 iju 0'1«)2«-SaM-,« WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS BY ARNOLD BENNETT THB OLD WIVBSr TALK HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND THE BOOK OP CARLOTTA BURIED AUVB A GREAT MAN LEONORA IVHOM GOD HATH JOINED A MAN PROM THE NORTH ANNA OP THE FIVE TOWNS HOW TO LIVE ON 24 HOURS A DAY THE HUMAN MACHINB UTERARY TASTE MENTAL E PK ICIE NCy CUPID AND GOMMONSEN8B WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS GBOROB fi. DORAN CX>MPANY NBWTOSK WHAT THE PUBUC WANTO A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS BY ARNOLD BENNETT Anthar of '"Mm Old WIvm' T*te," »• Uw OB Twantr-Awr Hom • Ov." TORONTO THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY. Lmi™, NEW YOEK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY nil Comumt, iMIk n t TOfl.*. ItoCLCTUlOa '.M11.R eiOBOB B. DOBAN OOMPAMT 901661 CHARACTERS ^^Zr:-!!-^'^---. P«AJrci. WoMA,, WMdewr JoH» WoMAy. Prorlndai Doctor Saui, K.i„«ck. M«.g.r of Worg«,, Ltd. HoiT Sv. JoHK, Theatric! Manager. SAMimt C«iA«. hi. Stage Manager. ontoit MACQuoim Dramatic Critic. J*«. B««UT. Earthenware M«.«f.ctHwr. ">WAW» BuiTBUT, hla Son. PAa-sor. Ekrt Viairoir, Widow. Mrfc CuiAira (HenrietU Blackwood). Airiri. Wo«,AK. Wife of John Worgwu Mrfc Wo«,A». Mother of the Worganfc Mn. Downs. Smr^MT at John Worgan'i. >Bietlmi. Wjf^.wTcHUT. WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS ACT I NoBi oar CuAaAotna nr Ao* -Wr OWIM iFoffm-Bniique. Aeautoiiicd to ljrt~ttooc«.ftaUy. 8t«n»fH«n.. D«dd«l ^SS JProMif ^or^oik— A traveller, • phUoMpher. uid ■»». JJ»» of . dllrtt«rt», rather .frid of3?to X^ J» «M,plei . quitefWJoMble eoUar with • loft ISS «fto • rathe* ohtnuhe bor. TWki «|ukt^ aw! l»««»«ttB«uIjr poUte. Age 41. q»n«V- Alwaja reSr'ifrSSi.r?'^ •*"'*^ 'P'rtlnf. Dreued cor- tt«JKk^«J^^'?*°~ '*• '»'««•• ^<^ centkmaiilr. ssrsXhtrrd-^* is:-,^ *- "-^^^'-^ «.f^h.^:W;;r^r ^^;^4. *« -«^ «• tut he ,. « WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Prkate offict of Sir Charlei Worgan. Boon IL, L., and back centre. Utmost poetSOe rich- net$ of afUce furniture. Grand central desk', with dictaphone and telephone. Side ttMee, full of papert, correspondence, etc. Large date-calendar prominent. A red ditk showing on wall at back. General air of orderUness and great activity. Sir Charles Worgan and Kendrick are opposite each other at centrtd detik, with two pOes of assorted magaxines and journals on the desk. Kendrick is smoking a large cigarl Time, afternoon, November. Kendrick. Now then, there's this confounded Sabbath Chimesl ipicking up a perioral from the piU to hU left hand]. SirC. Well, what's it doing? Kendrick iref erring to a list of figures]. Eight- een thousand. Sir C. It's dropping, then. Kendrick. Dropping? I should say it was! But it never was any real good. We bought it for a song and Sir C. {interrupting him sharpig]. That's no reason! We bought the Evening Courier when its shares were at sixpence, and now it's earning a thousand pounds a week. Kendrick. Yes, but the Courier isn't rdigious. You wouldn't call a halfpenny evening paper exactly religious, would you? ACT I 9 Sir C. What's that got to do with it? Do jou mean to .ay there isn't a religious pub- lie? *^ Kendrick. I've never met it [Hklcmg a»h of 1u$ c*gar\. " Sir a ivery Hightly nettled]. Now look here, Kendnck, we don't want to waste time in f acetious- ness. We still have quite twenty paper, to «> through [fingering pUe}. * ^^ndrick [very, UgMy more deferentian. Tm not joking, Sir Charles. What I .ay is-there •re two things that are absolutely U.P. in ttas country; one is limericks, and the other is luigion. SirC. Thatbedamned! No one ever expected Lmencks to last; but let me teU you there's a lot of money in religion yet [Kendrick ehrugg hi, ehotdder,.} Let's have a squint at Chime, [he turn, the page, over}. Hm! No! It isn't crisp «iou^. I ask you-Hloes it look snappy? [re^ from it in a etartled tone}. "Problems of the Day: Are we growing less spiritual?" [dngry.} Great heavens! Whose idiotic notion was that? Kendrick. HaUburton's. Sir a WeU, that really is a bit too thick! You W, seriously, you ought to keep an eye on thmgs better than that. t«fir'!!i.^*"r^- rve been giving aU my time to the sportmg department. Think of the trouble ( 10 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Tve had with the BUUard BdU alone, to saj nothing of putting the Raeecoune on its legi. I can't attend to everything, Sir Caiarles. Sir a l»m fuming^. "Are we growing len ■piritual?" As if anjbodj cared a tuppenny curse whether we arc growing less spiritual or not! No wonder the thing's dropping! What does the Reverend Mr. Haliburton gel? Kendrick. Fifty pounds a month. Sir C. Does he imagine he's gomg to earn fifty pounds a month, here, by asking the British public if it's growing less spiritual? Sack the fooL Where did you pick him up? Kendrick. Religious Tract Society. Fished him out myself. Sir C. Wen, you'd better return him with thanks. Kendrick. That's all very fine. Where shall we find some one to take his place? It isn't the first starving curate that comes along who will be able to run Haliburton's department. He's a worker. SirC. What's the good of his being a woAer if he's never got the hang of our style ? [Holding out periodical.J Look at it! Kendrick. I'm not defending him. Fm only Mjing that to find ideas for Sabbath Chmee, The Sunday Comrade, The Pleasant Sunday After- noon Record. Sunday Tales, The Sunday School Teacher's Friend, and Golden Words, is none so ACT I 11 I wouldn't like to mach of a blooming picnic, have to do it myself. Sir C. ilen angrjf, per*uanvely\. AU right. As you pleaae. You're responsible. But wake nun up. Chfri!^?^** ^^ ""** y°^ «^*^« ^ • I«»d, Sir S^ C. Me! You know perfectly weU I have an I can do for at least a couple of months, shov- ing the Mercury. Eendrick. I was forgetting that for the moment. Sir C. It must not be forgotten even for a moment that the DaUy Mercury is the leading hne of th„ Company. It must also not be fo^ t^J!r *^* *^\'^'r«J*«°" of the Mercury nnut touch a milhon before the Annual Meeting-even If the country ha. to go to war for it. No, my ^l^T. ?r """^^" ^ **»« '^^e depart ment And I'm su,* you can do wond^ in the rehgious department, once you reaUy give your im^ to it^ IVoices out^ tke ^oor'tf^I^ ^rlr^- It doesn't seem to come so natural. S^C. Oh, nonsense! The first thing you have to do „ to make Hahburton undei^dleLt snap And teU hm, from me that if every one of those papej. doesn't rf: . a satisfactor^ profif in^ months' tmje he will be at liberty to go into the «>-ion field, and the farther off the Lter. W M WHAT THE POBUC WANTS «"■* fl,.t to «e you. And where have you turned up from? N^^ ''« "*-«'•■'"'"«■■'.?". m SirC. What do ,ou think of Nnr York? PraiKl.. I don't think of it, except by hud- ton..J Wh.ti.th.tf I «, «,„,.thi„g'^ .«t..de the door, «rf do,nrt.ir. in the d« of tne conuniMionaire. SirC.Jruingl That? It»« an apparatua that rfiow, whether I can be aeen or not The«d A«k«up„ow. That nM«ui Fm engaged and can t be seen by any one. appointment or no ap- pomtment! Putting it up here put. it up oufiS^ the door and m the commiMionai«». room. Here*, the g.^ di.k-that mean, that Pm engaged but can be di.turbed. Blue mean, that Pm here, alone. Yellow mean, that Pm not in my office, but wme- wherem the building. And while meai thaX out Ingemou., eh? [In « serious tone.} Abso- lutely necessary, you know. ''r^ia* they both sit down agam}. So that explain, why I had .uch an exdting time in get- ting to see you. "^ difficult man to see in London. Francis. Ye., I noticed the commiwiomure wa. weanng .everal medals. Doubtles. for valour. '^. ACTI 1« Pint he made me fiU up . fonn, a. inquiaitive as an mcome-Ux paper. When I told him I had an appomtment, he instructed me to sit down. So I «t down and read Golden Word, for ten minutes. Then I thought it would be a good idea to tell hiin I was your brother, and not merely some one of the same name. SirC. What did he say then? Francu He told me to sit down, and gave me a sceptical look, as much as to say : « You're his brother, are you? Well, so am I!»» So I g«t down and read The Lad's Own Budget for ten minutes. Then, while he was busy torturing an- other applicant, I nipped into the lift just as it was gomg up, and began wandering about pas- »ag«. I mwaged to catch a boy. What a lot of boys you have! son^^!^* ^^ ^ ^"^^ " *^** "*"^ '**"^ ^'' The Lad's Own Budget. I was determined to see you, or periah in the attempt. I felt sure you couldn't be coming the great man over me, espe- cially as I'd made an appointment. I'M say this for our family, at any rate-there's no affected nonsense about any of us. Sir C. My dear chap, I hadn't the slightest notion you were in London. But how did you make an appointment? With my secretary? f^ancu. SecreUiy! Didn't know you had one ! ji 16 WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS the letter « Pnvate and Immediate." Str C. That'. ju.t where you made a mi.l«ke A van bnng. the first po.t everj momin/direct from St MartinVM,«d. [(L^ ,/,X nave an J^C. linuting Jus hands in his pockets and •^^ipenoHyj. Youbet! Con.iderahly otir • thousand people earn their bread and but^T «u. bu^g, and wages run from five bob ^ to a hundred pounds a week. What price that, A? Francu. Well, Charlie, we were never gi;^^ Sir a I believe I am. In fact, I must be. Pve «volu ionised journalism, and I'm only forty. U POMe.] You're forty-one. ^ ^ Francis. And the staid Johmiy i. forty-three. ACTl W I WM uking the mater the other day in a letter what the thought of having three son. aU over forty. wed!? ^* °°^ '** "*^* ^°" '^*' *** ^' *^*'^ Frmtcii. Yea. ^»i«WH»odi What Old thej give it 70U for? SirC. Well-rm iuppoeed to be iomebodj. Franeii. I alway. thought knighthooda wei« giTen to nobodies. Sir C ia UttU Uita,l That depend. I ThA depend.! And let me leU jou that the knightho«» » only a beginning. »"wi«kt Fruf,^ [,»oH/y]. Ah I Only a beginning! »^J! [*-.i»V]. I«J.whatdidJohW«' •bout the knighthood? ^ ^ SirC. Nothing. Fram:i, What interert. me i.. *oir you nun- «ged to do it. ' mvJl ^ '''*•" ^* *^* knighthood? The-the niccew, the milKon, the .pUwh. That . mother thing about me-Pm probably the only millionaire m the world with a clear con- ^.ence. What d> think of that? People «y that no one can make a million in ten year, .al not be a .coundrel. But I did. Pve never tried to form a trust, Pve never tried to ruin a com- «« WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS petitor. IVe never sweated mj chap.. They have to work hard, and I give 'em pepper, and Td uck one as soon as look at him, but they are weU paid --«o«e of 'em are handsomely paid. The price of labour m journalism has gone up, and it's thanks to me. Another thing-I give the best value for money that ever was given. Fnmcit. Yes, but Aow did you do it? What»g your principle? Sk C. I've only got one principle. Give the pubhc what ,t wants. Don't give the public what jou thirik It ought to want, or what you think would be good for it; but what it actuaUy does want I argue like this. Supposing you went into a tobacconist's and asked for a packet of cigarettes, and the tobacconist told you that cigarettes were bad for you. and that he could only Mil you a pipe and tobacco—what should you ■«y? IHe rises, excited.] Francis. Now what should I say? I don't think I should be able to think of anything clever enough until I got outside the shop. Sir C. [not laughing, but insisting on his argn- ««<]. You see my point, eh? You see my point? I ve got no moral axes to grind. I'm just a busi- ness man [more excitedly]. Francis. My dear boy. I'm not contradicting SirC. I know, I know. But some people make me angry. There seems to be a sort of notion ACT I 98 about that because it*s newspapers I sell, and not soap or flannel, I ought to be a cross betireen General Booth, H. G. Wells, and the Hague Con- ference. Fm a manufacturer, just like the fellows that sell soap and flannel : only a damned sight more honest. There's no deception about my goods. You never know what there is in your soap or your flannel, but you know exactly what there is in my papers, and if you aren't pleased you don't buy. I make no pretence to be anything but a business man. And my speciality is, what the public wants — in printed matter. Francia. But how did you find out what it wants? I suppose it wasn't vouchsafed to you in a dream. Sir C. [hesitating^. I— I don't exactly know. ... I began by thinking about what I should want myself. The Lad's Own Budget was the first. I knew well enough what I wanted when I was a boy of twelve, for instance; and as most boys are alike— you see! ... I put on the market a paper that I actually did want when I was twelve. . . . And you may believe me when I tell you that hot cakes were simply not in it, not •» It! . , . And so I went on, always keeping in mind [Enter Page-boy mth nempaper and letters, etc., on a salver. Exit.} Francis. So the red disk doesn't absolutely bar the door to everybody? Sir C. What do you mean? OL, the messen- IN «4 WHAT THE /BLIC WANTS ger. He alwajs comes in at this time llook$ at clock}. He's four minutes late, by the way [lookt at hit watrh}. No, it's that dock ighncmg at paper and letters, then resuming his discourse}. Always keeping in mind how I captured the boy of twelve. IVe sometimes thought of having an inscription painted over the door there: "Don't forget the boy of twelve "—[*«*ay] just for a lark, you know. At last I got as far as the Dmly Mercury, and I don't fancy any news- paper proprietor in my time is likely to get much further. A twelve-page paper for a half- penny and the most expensive news service on earth! What do you think? {glancing agam at letters}, Francis, I must confess Pve never read the Mercury, SirC. {astounded}, if ever retid ihe Mercury t Everybody reads the Mercury. Francis. I don't. Sir C. [solemnly}. Do you seriously mean to say you've never read the Mercuryf Why, man. It's nine years old, and sells over nine hundred thousand copies a day. Francis. I noticed it about everywhere in the streets this morning, and so I bought a copy, and put it in my pocket, intending to have a look at it, but I forgot. Yes, here it is [taking folded paper from lus pocket}. Sir C. [stiU astounded}. WeU, I said it was you ACT I S5 who were the caution, and, by Jove, it is! What do you read? i^rancii. When Fm oui of reach of a daily post I read the Timet Weekly Edition. Of course, my first care this morning was to get the Man- chester Guardian. I always have that when I can. Sir C. Surprising what a craze there is among you cultured people for the Manchester GuardianI I'm always having that thrown at my head. Here! [tosring over newspaper from salver]. Here's the fourth edition of the Evening Courier, just off the machine. Never read that either, I suppose! Francis. No. Sir C. {nodding his head as one wUh no further capacity for surprise}. Well, well! It's a sort of evening Mercury. Have a look at it! Just ex- cuse me for two minutes, will you? I must dictate one or two things at once. {Sits down to dicta- phone, and begins speaking into it.] Mr. Cook- son. Write Medways— you know, the clock peo- ple Francis [curious, examining]. Hello! What's that dodge? Sir C. It's a dictaphone. Never seen one be- fore? Shorthand clerks get on your nerves so. You blaze ai^ay into it, and then it repeats what you've said to the clerk— elsewhere, thank heaven! Francis. How amusing! ! I i ' r ■ 'i!f! «6 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Sir C. {into dictaphone}— to cancel their con- tract for regulating clock». They've been warned twice. Mine's four minutes fast. Write to Pneu- matic Standard Time Company, or whatever u, name is, and get an estimate for aU the clocks in buading. Typewriter. My dear Lady Calder, many thanks for your most Francis llooking at " Courier "]. I gay, who's Chate? Sir a Chate? Chate? He's a convict who got ten yfears for killing his mother or something. Let off lightly under the First Offenders Act, I suppose. Immensely celebrated for his escape from Dartmoor Prison. They didn't catch him again for a fortnight. . . . Why? Francit. Only because of this, aU across the front page of the Courier: [pointing} « Chate, now at Holloway, comes out to-morrow." SirC. Ah! [He tuddenly gets up and goes to door, R., and opens it.} I say, Kendrick, are you there? Just a second. [Enter Kendrick.} Kendrick. Yes? Sir C. Oh, Francis, this is Mr. Kendrick. Kendrick, my brother. Kendrick [surprised}. Glad to meet you, sir. [They shake Juinds.} Sir C. [to Ker. ok}. You arranged about Chate? [Francis returns to study his newspapers.! Kendrick. Chate? Sir C. I told you three months ago we must ACT I 17 haire his storj written by himaelf for the Sunday Morning Newt. K',drick. Oh, jm! WeU, it couldn't be done! SirC. Why? Kendrick. We found that the Sentinel people had been paying his wife a pound a week for years on the understanding that they had his stuff when he came out. SirC. yfhtit do Ic&re for the Sentinel people? If they have been paying a pound a week that's their look-out. We have got to have the story. If It's worked up properly it'll be Kendrick. Afraid it's too late now. SirC. Too late! Not a bit! Look here. Send young Perkins with a shorthand clerk. He must take the Renault car, and be outside HoUoway Pnson at five-thirty to-morrow morning. Let him have £«00 in gold-gold, mind! You've time before the bank closes. He must be ready for Chate. The wife is certain to be there. Let him make friends with her. TeU her the car is abso- lutely at their disposal. He can suggest break- fast. They're bound to accept. Anyhow, let him get Chate into some private room somewhere, out of London if possible. Then he can show the money. He must #Aow the money. Roll it about the table. Explain to Chate that the money wiU be handed over to bin: after he has talked for a couple of hours about his escape and so on, and signed his name. The clerk can come back here » WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS ^tr«„ with the .tuff; but Perkin. „u.t t.1 Chate, ^d h,, ^^ ^ ^ necewary, off to tl rt '«' • J*"»*- He n.u.t take 4n. ouV Ja jou must begm to advertise a- soon as the derl turn, up with the stuff. I. it aU dear? Kendriclc. Yes. IJianks very much. Wrfct By the way, I fi„d there's a silly -ort of mistake in the Mercury leader this morn' SirC. Oh! What? J^,. Cmi,je i. ^tion«, „ the cpiU, SirC. W«U, isn't it? ^«»rfc*. s«™. nrt. It ought to b. S,nij„o. «fc- C. Don-l „f„ to it .t .11, then. Sit tight on il. I •nppo.e th»f. Smithe'. /ault fir-i. "JPth«,dlthe„.tofthec,o,d^tT «^- I «y, dont let then, be too I.te fc Z 2;-o^„.ohe„,«,„t.u.inJHo„„^- ACT I 29 Sir C. [after a lUtle patue]. That's good! You might send that in to me as soon as it comes along. Kendrick. Right oh! [Exit.R.} Sir C. [after looking at Francis, tvho it ab- sorbed in newspapers, turns to dictaphone]— kind invitation, which I am very sorry not to be able to accept, as I shaU be out of town on Sunday. With kmd regards. Believe me. Yours sincerely. Typewriter. T>on't type this on Mercury paper. Mr. Cookson. Ask Mr. Smythe to come round and see me at my flat at nine to-morrow morning. Mark the appointment for me. [Enter Kendrick.] Kendrick. Sorry to disturb you [shutting door between the two rooms carefutty, and speaking tow]. Here's ^ Sir C. Have you given those instructions? Kendrick. Yes, yes. Here's Macquoid. He insists on seeing you, and as I know you want to humour him a bit Francis [looking up from papers sharply]. I3 that Sunon Macquoid the critic? SirC. Yes. I've just taken him on for Jlfm and Women^nr best sixpemiy weekly. He's pretty good, isn't he? Francis Pretty good! He's the finest dramatic cntic m Europe. I should like to meet him. S^ C. Well, you shall. Bring him in, Ken- lyou? [Exit Kendrick.] Francis. He knows what he's talking about. drick, fill «0 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS that chap doef, and he can wriU. TEntn- Kt» drick and Macquoid.^ ShrC. How do you do, Mr. Macquoid? Macquoid ivery curtly}. How do you do? Str C. May I introduce my brother, Francis Worgan, an admirer of yours? Franci, [mm^, „^ ,^,^^ j^ pleamre}. Vm dehghted to Macquoid icuttmg hm .hort}. How do yoa do? [Exit Kendrick.} ^ SirC. i;ake this chair. Macquoid. Sir Charles, I want to know what^ you mean by aUowing additions to be made to mv signed articles without my authority. SirC. [quickly resenting the tone}. Additions — without your authority ! Macquoid [taking an ittuetrated paper from ^nder hte arm, and opening U]. Yes, .ir. I have gathered since seeing this that you do it to other contributors; but you won»t do it to me. Mv arhcle on the matinee at the Prince's Theatre ended thus, as I wrote it: "Despite the strange «ceUence of the play-which has in a high deg,^ the disturbmg quaHty, the quality of beinir troublant-.the interpretation did not amuse me Mr. Percival Crocker, « abounding,' as the French "ay, m his own sense,' showed pale gleams of comprehension; the rest of the company were as ^ heaven n,ade them." That's how I finished. But I find this added, above my signature [in a ehocked ACT I 81 iont]: "Thii perfonnance is to in all probability be foUowed by three other«.»» [Stands aghast.} Look at it ! IKands paper to Sir C.]. Sir C. istiffttf]. WeU, Mr. Macquoid, there'i surely nothing very dreadful about that. I have no doubt we put it in to oblige the theatre. More- over, I see that without it the page would have been two lines short. Macquoid. Nothing very dreadful? « To-in- aU-probability-be-foUowed." It's an enormity, sir. Ml enormity I Sir C. [wry stiffly]. I'm afraid I don't quite follow you. Francis. Mr. Macquoid no doubt means the split infinitive. Macquoid. I should think that I did mean the spUt infinitive! I was staggered, positively stag- gered, when I looked at my article. Since then I've been glancing through your paper, and I find split infinitives aU over it! Scarcely • page of the wretched sheet without a por^ trait ofa chorus girl and a split infinitive! Mon- strous! ^•r C. I regret the addition, but I'm bound to »ay I don't understand your annoyance. Macquoid. Regret is useless. You must put in an apology, or at any rate an explanation, in next week's issue. I have my reputation to think about. If you imagine. Sir Charles, that because you pay me thirty pounds a month you have the right to u WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Pj-*er mj work with .plit infinitive.. jou\n t, uia 1^ contrary to our practice. « to." "^ *^«'°'' ''ith the particle JiraitkinUin^^fMac^^, Danm the f el- ~:r^ir "•• — ""' — . ACTI 88 SirC. Ah ! But he»g in the Cml Serrice. Half ofthwnw*. [Sir Charie, hat nmg a b*H tmd *okm a neordoHt of the dictaphone. Enter Page- boif, to whom he hands the record in sfUenee, Ewit Page-bop.] ^ranci» iputtmg hi, two newipaper, on hU *«##]. I .uppoie-the question in Parliament that Mr. What»a-hi«-name mentioned ia about the Anglo^Serman crisis that I see in both these papers. SirC. You may depend it is. We'ie running that for aU it's worth. If that two-column speciiU telegram from Constantinople doesn't wake up the B.P. to what Germany is doing in the Near East, then nothmg will. The fact is. no Government couM Ignore that telegram. And I may tell you, •tnctiy between you and m«.-even Kendrick doesnt know it-I practically arranged for a question to be put. Francii [raising hi, eyebrow,}. Really, you can do that sort of thing, eh? SirC. Can I do it! Ah, ah! Franci,. Well, I read both the Time, and the Manche,ter Guardian this morning, and I hadn't the least idea that there was any war scare at aU. Everjrthmg seemed cahn. But now I've looked at your Merc ,ry and your Courier, I feel as if the world was tumbling about my ears. I see that not merely is Germany mobilising in secret, but the foundations of Westminster Abbey are in •* WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS *»>C. No, the Confirr. MMwl at midnight Ani.m,g .drotarT" nJ^ "".rT";",; »"*-»•• »^c^- ACTI 85 Frtmeit. You ought to lenre • liqueur bnadj with vmtj copy of thcte papcn. Sir C. Of coune, raperior people nwy Uu^ —but that'i what the public want*. IVe proTcd it. Fnmeii. ru only My this, Charlie: if that'i what the public wantt— how derer you were to find it out I I should «Mwr hare thought of it t Sir C. [riting amd taking up the ** Mtr^wry ** »Wc* FroMcii ha$ dropptd on the floor]. See here, my boy, you think yourself devilish funny, but look at that front-page ad. Look at it ? FrtmcU [rtading]. "Uric acid. . . . Life^, misery. ... AH chemists. ... A shilling and • halfpenny.»» WeU? What about it? Sir C. Nothing. Only we get three hundred pounds for that ad.— one insertion. Pm a business man, and that's what I call business. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Froneii. I suppose the Mereurjf must appeal specially to the uric acid classes. Sir C. [aittimg down to dictaphone}. You may l«ugb— you may laugh! [Into dictaphone.} Mr. Ricketts. , Macquoid has ceased to be the dramatic critic of M. and W. Before definitely making another appointment you might submit names to me. We want something superior, of course. I notice a number of split infinitives in this week's iwue. They are out of place in a high-class illus- trated. Watch this. Framcit. I say, Charlie. 86 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS SirC. Well? Franci. What do you saj to giving «*« trial a- dramatic critic of Men and wLnf ^ ^rC, [after a paused. Can you write? trancu. Can youf Sir C. [taken aback and recovering Umelfl Wnt,n^,snopartof.yjob. . . . [^.^j But I suppose you can write. In fact Tasi study^^ «H, ^ou ought to be able to tui out so.eth.g pretty smart. You might even be a ™a m jOumahsm. Francis. There's no knowing Anvhn- could t,,. y„„ ™, ^k, i. ,2 «i'ir;r I « got .„ id„ that th. EnglUh the.t„ :j^rte a great joke. "* '^*^,^- I never go myself. But they sav it»« * most frantic bore. ^ ^ * * tha?''"'*^* \"'' That's what I meant. I gather that on the whole it must be frantic enough tet worth studymg. By the way. I went to an^ti^ at the Pnnce's Theatre yesterday. Str C Sort of freak theatre, isn't it? Queer? Francu It's one of the most artistic showTl ever saw m my life. * ^ Sir C. Iseriously]. Artistic. Yes, . was f old it was queer. ■*" " ^'•^'^^- Who d'ye think I saw there-on fl.. Sire. Wh.,? Si.ter of AbrJuo, Ni«„f ACT I S7 Franeii. Yes. Don't you remember when we used to go to Nixon's on Saturday nights? She would be about five then. Don't you remember she used to call you " Tarlie "? Sir C. Oh ! That chUd ! Nice kid, she used to be. FrancU. Nice! She's delightful. I went round to the stage-door after, and took her out to tea. She's a widow. Hasn't a friend in the world, and must be deuced hard up, I should think. But she's charming. And as clever as they make *em. Sir C. What's she doing on the stage? Francis. Oh! St. John took her on. She reads plays for him. Sir C. St. John? Who's St. John? Francis. He's the man that's running the Prince's Theatre. There's an artist if you like. ... In spite of weak acting, the way that chap got what they call the Celtic glamour over the footlij^ts was amazing! — [laughing at himself, half aside}. Yes, « amazing," since I'm in the Mercury building. By the way, she's coming to see you this afternoon. Sir C. Who? Emily Nixon? But Francis. Now don't be a martyr. It's like this. She's been wanting to come and see you for some time. But she thought it would be no use-nshe'd heard so much about your being invisible. Sir C. What does she want to see me for? Francis. Some business, I suppose. I told her that of course you'd see her— like a shot. Or «8 WHAT THE PDBUC WANTS •^ word down.t«„ that ^ 1 5°" "? Franctf. n Hamilton Place? I'm -f *i. GoMen Cross Hotel. 1" at tht ikt^ I want you to see my flat. Look he«. abo" t Franci, Oh ! that doesn't matter. *«n*t a Macquoid yet r««*^ n . °" lrt<«» #« • ^ lA«fer Page-bov tviik geant that if ry« p,.!:. -, «^ ^'^ ^^ Ve^r^- «^'^-»-'^- Sam Vernon. Mr.. loegmt So ngn them. Re-enter Page- ACT I 99 botf.^ HeUo! Oh! it's the tape. GiTe it to that gentieman. Look at it, Frank. {Francii takes the dips from the Boy. Exit Boy. Sir Charlee eontinuea to aign lettert.} Francis [after looking at the sUps'\. The For- eign Secretary seems to have guessed your ideal pretty closely. Sir C. What do you mean? Francis. Only instead of the boy of twelve he said the errand-boy. Sir C. What on earth Francis Ireading}. « In reply Foreign Secre- tary said no particle of truth in statements of newspaper in question. Our relations with Ger- many perfectly harmonious. Every one ought to be aware that, after Hong-Kong, Gmstantinople was the worst manufactory of false news in the world. Every one ought also to be aware that journal referred to was written by errand-boys for errand-boys. Cheers ! ** ^»r C. irisingJi. Give it here. {Takes Oip, reads it, and drops it on desk; then goes up to the disk'signal and changes it from red to green, then comes sUndy down stage. With a sudden furious Ciuthurst.'\ The cursed swine! Francis [tranqumy^. But you said your- self Sir C. Isavagely}. Oh! go to hell! Francis ItranquiUy}. Very weU! Very well! Who is the Foreign Secretary, by the way? 40 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Sire. Who is he? Lord Henry Godwin ! Jm ^fJ^'y^'^ ^^ '^f I had him here! l>ta .avageiyl If I had him here I'd ! Whenever he meets me you'd think butter wouldn't melt ,n his mouth. When his idiotic daughter was to me to say how pleased she had been with the Mercury, special description of the wedding. ^r"*^"- Wrote to you, did he? ^»r C. No mention of errand-boys then ' Francts. Where do you meet him? Str C. Where do I meet him! At th* ri.,K The Whitehall. At the Club. Pr'^n^- Do you belong to the WhitehaU? hv *K ^^ ^°"«*^«"ng that I was specially elected by the Comnuttee under Rule 9, I should say I t^. Tfy^' I -"* Teddy Marriott s^ wm H . ? C-stantinople. I suppose nobcS^ wJl deny he's the showiest of the whole gang of petals. Do you know what I pay himf ^^^o thousand a year, all his expenses, and a pension of t!: ^^ P""' *^**^ Not much errand-boy abo^thaU Look at his copy. I. i. ^eadabi^ Jr:t.', ^"^'^^^^-"'-PPo-gwhathesay, ^fr^theTii:r'''°'°'^^^^'"^^^*-"' ACT I 41 Frtmcii [looking at paper]. Well ! [Reads.] ** England and her enemy. Grave situation. Is the Government asleep? '» All across two col 'os. Sir C. Yes, yes. But what does he say at me end? [looking over FrancU's shoulder}. "The above facts, which I have no wish to unduly em- phasise, and which I give with due reserve, are the staple of current conversation in certain circles here, and I should be failing in my duty if I did not bring them to the attention of the British public.** Francis. Why didn't he begin by saying that? Sir C. Oh, rot ! You don't know what jour- nalism is. He said it, and that's enough. We've got to give all the news there is going about, and we've got to sell the paper. And by God we do sell it f We spend money like water, and we have the largest circulation in the country. We please the largest public. We pay the highest prices. We make the largest profits. You may or may not like the paper, but nine hundred thousand of Lord Henry Godwin's esteemed fellow-citizens like it. And it's a national institution, let me tell you. It*s a national institution ! The swine might just as well say at once that the British nation is a nation of errand-boys. Francis. You may bet he does do, in private. Sir C. Let him say it in public, then! He daren*t. None of *em dare. Tm the only one that makes no pretences about the British nation. ^ WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS 'ilTT/'l** ^^ ''"'*» ^^ ' ^^ »* '«»• And what then? Am I to be insulted? Are they to be in.ulted? Wh«t». the matter with the British nation, anyhow? From the way .ome of you •upenor people talk, one might think the BritiA nation ought to be thankful it's alive. Framcit. But Sir a [carried away]. I'm told I'm unscru- pulous because I « fan the war fever," as it's caUed. «o as to send up my circulation. I'm told I want • war. Damned nonsense! Notlung but damned nonsense! AU I want is for the public to have what •< wants. It's the pubhc that would like a war, not me. The puhUc enjoys the mere thought Of a war. Proof: my circulations. I'm told I ^der to the passions of the public. Call it that. If you bke. It's what everybody is trj^ to do. (Wy I succeed. ... Mind you, I don't call it that. I call it supplying a legitimate demand. When you've been to the barber to be shaved, do you round on him for pandering to your passions? Ifou superior people make me sick! Sick! Er- rand-boys, indeed ! Cheers ! There's a lot of chaps m the House that would like to be errand-boy. of my sort. Cheers, eh! I could have scores of ^%"'"^\!;, ""^ "^ ^""^ ^^^ ^^^'y -wonting If I wanted! Scores! I don't make out to 1^ anythmg except a busmess man, but that's no «»«m why I should stand the infernal mBolmct M • pack of preposterous hypocrites. ACT! 48 Franci». But iStr C. If I couldn't organiae some of their departments better than they do, I'd go out and sell mj own papers in the Strand! Let *em come here, let »em see my counting-house, and my composing-rooms, and my special trains— I'd show 'em. Francis. But SirC. And I'll tell you another thing. [Frtmcii geia up and approachet the door.^ Where are you going to? Francii. I'm going to heU. Til come back later, after the monologue. Sir C. Hold on! What were you going to say? Francis. I was merely going to ask why, if you're only a business man, you should worry yourself about these superior people. Why not leave them alone? You mentioned flannel; or was it soap? Supposing they do accuse you of hav- ing persuaded nine hundred thousand errand-boys to buy soap— dash it, you ought to take it as a compliment! You aren't logical. Sir C. Yes, I am. Let them leave rae alone, and I'll leave them alone. But they won't. And it's getting worse. That's the point It's getting worse. Francis {after a pause]. This is really very interesting. Sw C. IsHorting, offended]. Is it? Thanks! 44 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Frtmcia. Now look here, Charlie. Of course we're strangers, but still I'm your brother. Don't be an ass. When I say that this is really very interesting, I mean that it is. I'm not laughing at you. My attitude to you— and to everybody, as far as that goes— is entirely sympathetic. Be- cause after all we're all in the same boat. SirC. AU in the same boat? How in the same boat? Frmcit. Well, on the same planet. Always getting in each other's way. And death staring all of us in the face! You keep on talking about superior people. There aren't any. Sir C. There's a lot that think they are. Francii. And if there are ! They can't do you any harm. So why shout? What do you want? Sir C. 1 want to give them beans. Francii. Well, from what I know of you, I would have been ready to wager that if you wanted to give them beans, beans they would in- stantly get. Now as regards this Godwin person, for example. What's to prevent you from con- ferring upon him the gift of beans in the presence of your morning audience of nine hundred thou- sand, and your afternoon audience of I don't know how many? You've got paper, ink, printing- presses, special. trains, writers Sir C. That's just where you're wrong. I haven't got a writer in the place that can do what I want doing. ACT I 45 Froneit. Didn't you mention some one named Smjthe M being very wonderful? Sir C. Ye>, he's the chief of the editorial itaff of the Mercury. But he couldn't do thia. You don't understand. He could give Lord Henry beans for the benefit of our public, and he will! But he couldn't persuade Lord Henry that the swine had got beans. He couldn't do it. It's a different sort of thing that's needed— not our snap, something else. Smythe doesn't know enough. Francit. Well, why don't you go out and get some one who does? Sir C. Can't. I've tried. I've had several of you superior people in this shop, and at fancy salaries too ; but it doesn't work. Either they lose their own snap because they think they must imi- tate ours, or they come down with stuff that no- body else in the blessed building can make head or tail of, and that would ruin the paper in a fort- night. ...[/»« diferent tone.] How do I atrike you? — straight, now. Froficw. How do you strike me? Sir C. Yes. As a man. Am I a bom fool, or something just a bit out of the common in the way of ability? Francit. Well, it's quite impossible to believe that a man is a genius if you've been to school with him, or even known his father. But I don't iflind telling you, in the most unbrotherly way, M WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS that if I were meeting you now for the flnt time, I should say you were something in the nature of a genius — a peculiar kind, of course — but still Sir C. [quickly}. Well, let me teU you this— somehow your intellectual, your superior people won't have anything to do with me — anything serious, that is! There seems to be a sort of boycott among *em against me! I don't think I have 911 acquaintance that I don't despise, and I haven't got any pals at all. Mind you, I've never said as much before to any one. I can put it in a nutshell. It's like this. Supposing some people are talking about Swinburne, or theosophy, or social reform, or any of those things, and I come along — well, they immediately change the con- versation and begin about motor-cars ! Francii. But do you really care about Swin- burne — and those things? Sir C. I don't know. I've never tried. But that's not the point. The point is that I'm just as good as they are, and I don't like their attitude. Francis. There's only one thing for you to do, my boy — ^get married. Sir C. IcorUkming hi$ train of thought}. I ob- ject to being left out in the cold. They've no right to do it. Francit [repeating hie own tone}. There^s only one thing for you to do, my boy — ^get married. Sir C. [quietly}. I know. Francis. Some nice, charming, intellectual ACT I Iff roumn. You could have an Al houie-flrrt cImi, but not .tiff. T,>top dinner., without a lot of »aj ceremonj. A big drawing-room, and a little one opening off it where they could talk to her— you know the wrt of thing. You'd won «ie how •hed rope 'em in for you. It would really be very intere.ting to watch. Once get the right .ort ofwonutn ! SirC. Exactly. But you rattle on a. if the.e nice, charming, intellectual women were .itting •bout aU over the place waiting for me. They aren»t. I've never teen one that would do. Francii. Well, you won't get where you want to be without a woman. So you'd better «et to and find one. SirC. Where? Francu. I don't know. . . . Who'. Lady taJder, for instance? Sir a Lady Calder? Oh! .he wouldn't wait to be asked twice. Francit. What age? Sir C. Oh! younger than me. Francie. Much? ShrC. No ! Be.ide.--well, .he', a nice woman, but there, too much of the county family touch about her. Sporting, you see. The late Calder hved for nothing but the abolition of wire fences. Before I knew where I was I should be let in for a steam yacht. She's a widow, of course, and tHat. m her favour ihentatingly}. 4t WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS FrancU, It she intellectual? Sir C. She would be if I wanted her to be {hdf $h0tpi$hiif]. Frameit. That's no good, no good at aUi [With a tudden outbuut of diicovery.} I know who jou ought to marrj. SirC. Who? Francis. Emily Vernon. Sir C. Me marry an actreM ! No, thanlu ! Francii. She isn't an actress. Sir C. You said she was. Francis. No, I said she was on the stage. She can't act for nuts. But she's the very woman for you. Pretty; and awfully decent. Oh! and she can talk, my boy, she can talk. And she knows what she's talking about. Intellectual, eh? I bet she could wipe the floor with some of these women novelists. Sir C. And I suppose she hasn't a cent Francis. What does that matter? Sir a Not a bit. Francis. You'd never guess she was hard up, to look at her. She'd run a big house for you, and be even with the best of them. And then she comes from Bursley. She's our sort. SirC. Goon! Goon! I shall be married to her in a minute. Francis. No, but reaUy ! Sir C. What's she coming here for, to-day, by the way? ACT I 49 FnmeU. I gathered that it was a question w lEnter Page-bo^.] Pagt-hoy. Mn. Vernon. Awiijf Vnnon. Extt Page-hoy.^ FraneU [approaching her]. Well, Emily. Pm here, you ««. We were just talking about you. [Shaket handt.} ' EmUy. Arithmetic, I suppose? Francit. Arithmetic? £iii«y. Adding up my age. [Taking Sir ChaHe»»hand.} So it»s you? Exactly the samel SirC. Really? Enay. Yes. Vm quite relieved. I expected something majestic and terrible, something like a battleship. I did. truly. Now, what am I to caU you? SirC. What you used to can me. EmUy. Charlie? Francis. No, you always called him Tarlie. Emtty. Vm sure I never did. Every one used to say that I talked just like a little woman. The fact IS, I was bom at the wrong end, and I'm gettmg more childish every day. I say. Charlie. 1 do wish I d known a little earlier that you weren't • battleship. Vd worked myself up into a fine state of nervousness. Sir C. You don't seen? nervous. EmUy. No. But I pv t least. I was. When I'm amusing and ■evsr. I's a sure sign I'm «0 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS very nervous. People say, " How bright she is ! " And all the time I'm shivering with fri^^t. When Fm quite at my ease I become quite duIL Nat- ural idleness, I expect.- Sir C. Well, suppose we sit down? {They «#.] EmUy. How nice it is of you to see me like this ! Now, there was another illusion. I always thought you were most frightfully difficult to see. Sir C. Not to any one from the Five Towns, and especially from Bursley. Francis. Doli't you believe it! I assure you that I only got at him this afternoon over the dead bodies of a soldier and five office-boys. EmUy Ito FrancisJl. Yes, I guessed it was you who had made straight the pathway. {To Sh C] Francis and I got rather intimate yesterday — didn't we, Francis? — over the Yeats play. Francis. Very! Very! But the butter-scotch helped, you know. EmUy. I never asked you how you thought I said my lines, and you never told me. Francis. Oh, well. I daresay you've seen what Macquoid said of the first performance. He said you were as heaven made you ! ... So you must have been very fine. Emily. How horrid he is ! He really is horrid ! ... I suppose I oughtn't to say that to you, Charlie, as he's on one of your papers now. Of course I know he's generally right. That's what makes it so annoying. ACT I 01 Sir C, Say anything you choose. He's no tonger on our staff. EmOjf. YouVe dismissed him? Sir C. It comes to that. Emly Oh! Rejoicing in Zion! A sigh of rehef wiU run through the whole profession. And who s going to take his place? Fnmcia. Me, madam. E^y. Well, it's just like a fairy-tale. But I wonder if our young and untried friendship will stand the awful strain. Francit. I've decided what I shall do in regard to you. If I can't honestly praise you, I sha'n't mention you at all. Enay, CharUe, let me beg you to dispense with h« senrices at once. He'U be more disliked even than Macquoid. {To Fr««cM.] Do you know what we re gomg to produce next— if we can keep open? VoTd*» Broken Heart, Francit {recitet^. "Crowns may flourish and decay; Beauties shine, but fade away; Youth may revel, yet it must Lie down in a bed of dust" Emly. Yes, isn't it lovely? Don't you think Its a lovely play, Charlie? Sir a Never read it. Ford, did you say? Don't know him. You see, I'm so taken up - M WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS EnUljf laympatheticaUy}. I know how busy you must be. But if you could find time to read The Broken Heart, Vm sure you'd enjoy it. Has Francis told you what I've come about? Francis. I was just beginning to explain when you arrived and interrupted me. EmUy. How clumsy of me! {composing her features}. Well, it's like this, CharUe [taughs}. Sir C. What's the joke? EmUy. Nothing. Only nervousness! Mere hysterics ! I was just thinking how absurd I have been to come here and worry you. Francis, do explain. Francis {to Sir Charles}. The creature is after money. EnUly [mth a cry of protest}. You appalling and unprincipled bungler! [To Charlie.} It's like this. Our chief is a very great man. Sir C. St. John — is it? \Turru to Francis as if for confirmation.} EmUy. Yes. We always call him the Chief. He's a most fearful brute. He stamps on us and curses us, and pays us miserably, miserably, and we all adore him, and nobody knows why. He simply cares about nothing but his theatre; and of course, for producing a play, there's only him. But as a man of business — ^well, it would be no use trying to describe what he is as a man of business ; an infant in arms could give him lessons in business through the post. Now only a fort- ACT I ^ night ago, when the ChanceMor of Oxford Uni- versity „«de that appeal for fund., what do yoa Junk the Ch.ef did? He .ent twenty poJd., ju.t because he rowed once in the Boat-race. And he simply hadn't got twenty pounds. Sir C. Clever chap ! Emay. Wasn't it splendid of him? The Prmces might be a success if somebody with money would com- in and look after the business ttde. and never let the Chief see a cheque-book. S*rC. Isn't it a success? I thought I saw an advertisement m the Mercury to^y that the new matmiei were very successful. £«%. Artistically, yes. ArtisticaUy, thev'ns .record. But the fact has escaped the public. We are not at thr ^oment what you'd caU tuminir money away. Mo., of the notices were very bad —of course. ^ ErnSy. No, I fancy it was rather nice. StvC. They say a good notice in the Jlf«.cur« wiU keep any theatre open for at least a month. Emdy. PersonaUy, I love the Mercury. It's BO excitmg. Like bread and jam, without the rt_Z° ""^ '*'" * ^"^ °^ ''*"*'^°'" children's Franci, [throwing hi, head back}. There you are again, Charles. ' EmUy ihalf-laughmgl I don't know what M WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS you're laughing at. I meant that for a compli- ment, Charlie. {Sir ChaHet noda good-humour- fdly.} Ita domestic hints are splendid. But some- how the people who would be likely to come to the Prince's don't seem to n>ad the Mercury^-tit any rate not for its dramatic criticism. The Prince's is a very special theatre, you see. Sir C. Superior, you mean? Intellectual? EmUy [half-mocking]. Oh, yes! It's ahnost like a church. Sir C. And this Chief of yours wants some one to put money into this church? EmUy. Yes. We're all of us trying to find capital, except him. You see, it's our livelihood. If the theatre were to close, where shouM I be, for instance? iLaugha.] I just happened to think of you, Charlie. The idea ran through my mind — like a mouse. Skr C. How much would be needed? Emily. Oh ! I don't know. A thousand. Francii. You mean five thousand. Emay. Didn't I say five? I quite meant to. But my lips went wrong all by themselves. Sir C. l»hortly1. Oh! {A pauae.} Emay. Of course. Now that I'm here I can see how absurd it is. I said the Prince's might be a success— I mean financially— but honestly I don't believe it ever would. It's too good. And the Chief is too much of a genius. , . .Oh! whenever I think of him sending twenty pounds ACTI W «iii t attend to those great lumbering Univenity Ihinp, instead of men like St. John. The thought of that twenty pounds always make, me perfeSly funoufl. But the Chiers incurable. Sir a Wen, I don't mind putting five thou- sand mto the thing. losf^^* ReaUy? But-but-supposing you SirC. Well, I don't mind losing it. Beside^ 1 ve never lost any money yet. Francit. A new sensation for him ! Sir C. f, ing Francis', remark]. If St. John would let mt >» him a bit. EmUy IwUh a solemn «r]. Charlie, > you mean to say that you'll put five thousand pounds mto the Prince's Theatre, just on the .b«igth of me coming here and telling you about it? Sir C. Yes. Emiij;. When? SirC. Now. EmUy I never heard of such goings-on. I hadn t the sUghtest idea it was so easy as that to get five thousand pounds. SirC. It isn't, usuaUy. But this is a special case. I should like to help along a really superior ~er— mtellectual Em^ IheartUy]. It i, an honour, isn't it, after aU? But people with money never seem to see ti»t. . . . IPinches hersdf.] Yes, Vm awake. 56 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Can I go and tell the Chief, now, from you, that you're ready to— — Sir C. You can telephone to him thii initant, if you like [pointing to teUphonel. Emly. No, that won't do. Sir C. Why not? Emily. They cut off the theatre telephone this morning [a brief toMnng catch in her voice'\. St. John would have had to close on Saturday if some- thing hadn't turned up. I — ^I don't know what / should have done. I've been at the end of my tether once before. [Francii riset, alarmed by her iymptomt.'] I'm all right. I'm all right. ILaughi.} Sir C. Shall I order up some tea? Emily. No, no. I must go and tell him. Fm quite all right. I was only thinking how awkward it is to alter one's old frocks to this high-waisted Directoire style. Sir C. llamely}. Why? EmUy. Because you can always shorten a skirt, but how are you to lengthen it? Well, I must go and tell him. Francia. So much hurry as all that? Emily. Let me go. Sir C. But look here. When shall we see you again? Francit. Yes, when shall we EmUy. Can I bring St. John to-morrow morning? ACT! m swc. Emtly. SWC. EmOy. SirC. Certainly. What time? Any time. Eleven o'clock? c- ^ _, ^* "*^** f^"^^ '*'*« *««* "«* ^ C»arfo#, ap|>«a« to &« about to tpeak, but w *ileni; then thake, hand, quickly with Franci, ^ e^t quickly, under emotion. The men look at each other. Pau$e.'\ Francie. Well! Have a cigarette? SirC. Imovedl No, thank.. She must have been through a thing or two, by God ! Fronde. Knocks you about a bit, doesn't it— when It comes out sudden like that? I hadn't a notion. What do you think of her? All riiAt. un'tshe? ** * Sir C. [«o&, after a pauee^ She gave me an- otner idea. Franci,. Oh? {Light, a cigarette.^ Sur C. Yes. I'm damned if I don't give a hundred thousand pounds to Oxford University Never occurred to me! That-and numing the Prmce's Theatre - Franci,. But you never went to Ozfoid. SirC. Do you think they'll make that an ex- cuse for refusing it? iCurtam.} ACT II Novn oir Cbasacrm nr TRn Aei HoU St. /ok*.— ThMtrieal nuuiager. A man of die flnett •rttstk taste. Otherwiie a brute, especially in manner. A Uggidi man. He caret for nothing and nobodf when hia artistic ideas are at stake. Occasionally there is something wistftal in his voice. Age about AO. Hsury CUtamd. — Stageinanager. A little, obsequious man* witii sharp features. A time-server, and capable of dn- plldty. Profound admirer of his wife. Age 46. Jfr*. OMamd (Henrietta Blackwood).— A fine actress. Too good for the public. Wearing out after a long and arduous career t but she can still play virgins. IMsilluskmed, naturally. Isnt quite sure whether she has ever been a genuine "star" or not, in the eyes of the puUic. Kind- hearted. Great admiration for St John. Age unknown. Same uene. Time: Monday morning. (Duk, blue.) Sir Chariet i$ alone, dictating into the dictaphone. Sir C. I must have a reply by return or it is oE. Yours faithfully. Lord Rugby. My dear Rugby, All my excuses for not coming round last night to the smoker. I was prevented by the most urgent business. You never know in my trade what may turn up. See you, I suppose, at the Committee — {^Enter Kendrick and EmUy Ver- non, £.] ACT n Jt^k^'^r^"'}-^'^^ "' ^ A.C. ^tTh««d.y. Yo«„ .increlj. iff, ^^p. Sir C. inervou,, shakhg hand» with Emih,! Qo^mornmg. Have thi. chair, will you? ^^* J^J^^i^'^i^^l No -rae for the ad. Sir C.imae, awkwardly]. Oh, no! . f'^'' ^*^ Sir Charle,]. I .ay-have vou S^cT: "' *"' ^"^^ ^''"^ ""^^ of PW**"*; ^^" ''*" "«^* •*«»* «>at « Crime. «P^T^vT";^^°^"' Thirty.ixthour„d .nppmgadjdtery. I jurt wanted to a.k ^u_ nWl r ^ ':*"^ ^*"**'*^'^J- All right! AU nghtl rve got a meeting on here at twelve Half a moment! [Hattent to dnnr r r^^' "**^ af^rM^* Oh!you or. there! Comeandlook ^cL T""°"- f^'^ ^"»«^1 Excuse me two ^^'iT r' Now, Kendrick! fi;J^" Air C*arfo# oiij Kendrick R v^*^ t> l*'«»»*if *v«r «.«*«,.]'*• *»"'^'-'>-«"«*- "™- ^«' *'» .!f\f" '^^ sure. ^^ nmweif, but he waM»t '•mfici.. Andwaahe? ^"•«y. Ye.. [With a trace of MAf^ 64 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS trous effect of French influence on the Noncon- formist mind. Emily. It was so real that I could have Francit. You confirm my worst suspicions. ErnUy [smUmg]. You're bound to enjoy it. Francii. But Charlie didn't? EmUy. And yet, you know, he « clever— don't you think so? Just look at what he's done with the Prince's! Don't you think he's frightfully clever? FranctM. Clever isn't the word. Emily. What is the word? Francit. There isn't a word. I've lived with Charlie now for four months, and I've looked care- fully through the dictionary, and I've satisfied myself that there isn't a word. Charlie baflfes. EmUy. Yes, that's why he's so fascinating. I was only thinking, as I walked back last night [Hopping; in a different voice}. I may as well tell you we walked back together after the theatre to my square. It was such a lovely night. Francit. It was. {Enter Page-boy teiih St. John.} Page-boy. Mr. St. John. [E«i*.] Francit [riting}. Good morning, St. John. How are you? St. John. Mondayish. [To EmUy.} Hello! What are you doing here? Emily Ithaking handt with lum']. Gk)od morn- ing, Chief. Sir Charles asked me to come. Acrn «t witter* ^ **""«''*''>"""'"«• to I«.«.ch.l Sir a Sol., But H oMurred to me rffr. ™^ there «,„M„.t b. „, ^.^ ;„ «U™^S «fr C. Wen, „, d«„- St Jolu,. ,„rt. -.„, ^<«d.tf.„, one ought, e.p^,„U„^ If t' if°^ ? "? .' ^'^ ■«**■» « '»•' it' Sir C. Not .tricti, . bo«d neetiug. «/rt!!l,""^''''"^"«'''thebo.rf. ITo st^i ^"^' ""■ " '■»"••• I tae itf *"■ C- No, no; quite unneoeMary. No» St ire can't help ,t Anjhow— fooM. «. « _„i!r ™l .t ™, be ^ a,.t we-« t«™ed the J^ but not re,, far. There', been . p«» of about 66 WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS a hundred pounds on the last three months— since the company was definitely formed. A hundred pounds in three months is not much. It will just pay the interest on the debentures. Of course it would have been larger but for the matinie$ of The Broken Heart. On the other hand, it would have been smaller— in fact there would have been a loss— if we had paid proper salaries. The directors get nothing, as directors. Mr. Qeland and Miss Henrietta Blackwood accept rather nominal salaries, partjy because they're together, but no doubt partly on account of Mrs. Cleland's —er— advancing age; the other members of the troupe are equally ill-paid. As for you, St. John, your TMnuneration as manager is— well, in- adequate. St. John. Don't you worry about that. You can put it that what I receive is for pkying a small part now and then. For my producing, there's no question of adequate remuneration. Couldn't be! Frohman himself couldn't re- munerate me adequately for my producing! I'm the greatest producer on earth. Every one knows that. Sir C. Well, there it is! All I want to point out is that we are at a critical period in our career. We mustn't be too satisfied with ourselves. We must consolidate our position. The future de- pends on what we do now. Our present bill will probably run another couple of months. ACT n 67 St.JoJm. It may, or it mayn't. I never like to run a pece out. I want to have something ehe rttdj m three weeks, and I can do it. Sir C. That's just what I'm anxious to discuss. Do you reaUy mean that you can do a Shake^ spearean production in three weeks? St. John I've decided against The Metvhant Of Venice. I thought you understood that. I'm going to do The Lion*, Share. 1 saw it last night, and I practically arranged with the author-Lloyd Morgan, or Morgan Lloyd, or whatever his name «. Its a great thing. Let everybody take notice of what I say! It's a great thing! SirC. I also saw it last night. It may or may not be a great thing-I don't pretend to be • judge "* ■ St. John. That's all right, then. I do. will ^- ^"* ^ P*-«*«»d to he a judge of what will succeed. And I don't think TA^ Zio»', 5W. would succeed. I'm quite sure it isn't a certainty. St. John. It's no part of my scheme to produce certamties. As far as that goes, I've never met one More money has been lost on certainties than would pay off the bally National Debt. My scheme is to produce masterpieces. the^? ^' ^^ ^ ^"^ ^"''*"*' ''°°'' *'**'"* t° '^ St John. So much the worse for the public! •Ine loss IS theirs! Sir C. It seems to me the loss wiU also be ours. 68 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Franci* [sootMngly]. St. John means that the public and ouraelves will share the loss. But whereas we shall know exactly how much we have lost, the public will be under the disadvantage of never guessmg that it has lost anything at all. Sir C. [m a low tone to FranctM]. Just let me speak, will you? [Francia gives a courteous hur tttorout amUe of conaent.'] ^ St. John. Besides, who says the public won t come? SirC. I do. AaoiheTHmg— The Lion $ Share contains no decent part for Miss Blackwood. St. John. I can't help that. At my theatre the company has got to fit the play. Let the old girl have a rest. God knows she's been working like a cameL [Enter Page-boy toith Mr. and Mr*. deland.'l Sir C. [to Page-boy}. Boy 5 [Page-boy comet round to Sir Charlea and waitt.l Mrs. C. I do hope we aren't late. The fact is we met my dear old father in the Strand. I hadn't seen him for months, and it gave me quite a tun. How d'ye do, Sir Charles? [greeting him]. Oeland [who hat been thdking hands round; quietly to Sir CharUs]. I got your letter this morning. Sir C. [nods']. Now, Mrs. Cleland— have this chair. St. John is thinking of producing a play with no part for you. What do you say to that? ACT n E^\^'lt'^'^^^^^"'^'''^ Reusing Emdy^. I know what I ahould have said twenty year, ago But I often .ay nowaday. thaTn^J Idea of bb,. i. a dozen oy.ter. and oo to^ conrfortably at ten o'clock. So long afyou p^ tnj «Uary. I don't mind. Salarie. have ^^*^ -ry reg^ar lately, I wouldn't like it l^b,^" Would you, my dear? [to EmUyl dWc^to keep on paying .alarie. wS, you out of ^«.C. Now that', very nice of you. Sir CMand [rubbing his hands]. Lion's Share I auppoM you're talking about? Pi^t Ci^"' ^°" ^^^'^ «^ *^ --'^erful ,^^^ ^'^'^'^^ '^^ St, John]. Well, I only doub^, r^'""^- O^ — it', clever, un^ doubteily clever. It may please the Stage So- cety; but ,f you a.k me my frank opinion— ant^''^, •!"".'' °P'°^°" " ''°'*^ nothing at Se m'TT ^f ? '""'• When he trie, tolmi- tete me ,t ,.n't alway. so bad. I didn't engage wrcrr.!^^"" '-^^^^^^^c.u^^ in^Z'S .^^ f^ ^''^^^ "id to me thi. mom- ^g> "Henrietta," he says, "you and I are the 70 WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS only membew of the Blackwood family that can really act. I could act a railway engine. And I believe you could, too,** he says. Didn't he, Sam? Excuse me, Chief. St. John. And also because he^s the only stage- manager in London who'll do what you tell him without any damned improvements of his own. But as for his views— they are invariably vul- gar. Sam would make a fortune if he were let alone. CleUmd. I should. Just give me a chance. Si. John. Not much, Sammy! Not if I know it! . , Sir C. What is your opinion of The Lumt Share, Mrs. Oeland? Mr$. C. [indigfMKtI. Don't ask me. How should I know? My own nephew's playing in it, but could he get a seat for me for last night? No! I've been before the London public for twienty-six years, but could I get in on my card? No. FrancM. If you'll give me the pleasure of your company this afternoon, Mrs. Cleland, I've got a couple of stalls. Mrs. C. Much obKged, Mr. Worgan. But if I can't go on Sunday I don't go at all. I'm not proud; but either I'm Henrietta Blackwood or I'm not ! At least, that's how I look at it. Sir C. Mrs. Vernon has seen the play Mr$. C. Congratulations, my dear! ACTn 71 But I haven't jet uked her yiewf, fed Sir C. formallj- St. John. You needn't, Sir Charles. I •omehow that I can .tniggle on without 'em. 5»r a But she was put on the Board simply becau«. «he'd always been used to reading play, for you! How often have you said what fine taste she has I St. John. That's true. I value her opinion- when I want it. But in this case my mind i. ™»de up You were sitting together last night, you two! I saw you. Str C. That was a mere accident. St. John. Agreed! Accidents will happen. iHumt an air.} *^*^ SirC. icontrottmg hhuelf]. As I said before. 1 don't pretend to be a judg e St. John As I said before, I do. That about settles that, doesn't it? Sir C. No igravely and obsttnately]. Speak- ing -unply as a member of the public, my objec- tions to the piece, if only I could put them properly-^f course it's not my line to explain— St. John. Don't let that trouble you. lean explam your objections. You've got three objec- tu,ns. The first is that this play is true to Dfe, tte second m that it's original, and the third is tha It's beautiful. You're a bold financier, but you're afraid of beauty; you detest originiiity; and as for truth, it makes you hold your noL 7f WHAT THE PUBUC WANT8 Do you think I don»t know all about your con- founded objections? I'm turned fifty. I've ipent a quarter of a century in trying to make thia damned town appreciate beauty, and thouf^ Pre luccceded once or twice, the broad result U that I can't look my greengrocer in the face. But I wouldn't swop places with you. It would be like being blind and deaf. [Suddenly to Francii, oi to one who underttandt.] I wish you'd seen The Lion*t Share. I know what you'd Sir C. [quickly}. Come now, St. John, what- ever the private opinions of any of us may be, I am quite sure we shall all be agreed that this won- derful play of yours won't please the public. [Looki at Emily, a* if for confirmation.} It would be bound to be a frost. ... You your- self St. John [ipringing up}. No' hing of the kind ! Nothing of the kind! No one ever caught me saying that any play on earth would be a frost. No really new thing ever yet succeeded but what all the blessed wiseacres who know the public best swore it would be a rank failure. Let me tell you that in the end you chaps are always wrong. Public taste is continually changing. Is it you chaps who change it? Not much, by God! It's we who change it. But before we can begin to work, we must get past a pack of infernal rotters who say they have their finger on the public pulse. ACT n 78 iMar0 quietlif.} WeD, we do get piwt, tlut». one comfort. Mn. C. Oh, Chief! How jou carry on, to be •ure! It»a worse than « rehe«r«aL And thie isn't your sUge, you know. Shr C. l»maing}. That's aU right, that's aU nght. St. John is always enthusiastic. A month ago he was just as enthusiastic for Shakespeare. St. John. Yes, but then I hadn't got my eye on * good modem piece. Sir C. I suppose you'U admit that The Lion't Share is not as good a play as The MerchmU of Vemee. I've been reading The Merchant of Venice myself. A most interesting old pky! Now there'e beauty, to use your own word, if you like. St. John. Sudden discovery of a hitherto neg- lected author by the proprietor of the Daav Mercury. Sir C. All this is not argument. St. John. My exceUcnt Sir Charles, any ass of an actor-manager can produce Shakespeare. Francis. Excuse me, St. John, I don't wish to interrupt a duel, but you told me exactly the con- trary not long since. You said there wasn't an actop-manager in London who understood Shake- speare enough to make even a decent caU-boy in a Shakespearean production. St. John. And I was right Some day m show em. But Pm not going to spend my time on W WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Shaknpearc when Fvc got a fint-class modern production all waiting. It's the Shakeipearee of the future ^t Fm on. Sir C. Now seriouslj, St. John [A paitst.] CMtmd. The wife is a reallj tremendous Portia, Chief. Aren't you, Henrietta? Mr». C. He knows. He saw me at the old Novelty in *89. Sir C. And I was thinking that Jessica was the ▼ery part for Mrs. Vernon — ^I hope you won*t deny that it's about time Mrs. Vernon had a decent show [half laughing}. St. John [eoUIy]. Since you're mentioned it, I may as well tell you I've decided that Mrs. Ver^ non must leave the Prince's company. Ewiff. Chief— you aren't [«'op«]. Sir C. [amoyed}. Now, what's this? [(Tm- 0ral tur prise.} St. John. I'm not satisfied with her work. The truth is, I never was. I was taken by her en- thusiasm for a good thing. But what's that got to do with acting? Emiy [deeply moved]. You aren't going to throw me over? I've always tried my very best. What do you think I shall do if you throw me over? St. John. I don't know. Whatever you do you oughtn't to act any more. Because it ain't your line. You're simply painful in The Mayor of Catterbridge, and no one knows it better than you. ACTn 7ff pany. ^ '•▼ountes in the com- SirC. Favouritcf? SirC, But Mm V.^«r. ^^^'^ J^^" know! compMj. ^'™** " • A'^ctor of the St. John. Who made her . j- x «>»pany? Yo„ didiJ ^*"' "' *»« brother the nonund ck j^an" iJ°" "^' ^'^'^ «»t in the least Sh! u ^^* *^* ' "ind Sire. Your .tage? *'* °" "^ •*•«•• *f../o*ii. Mjatage. f^^\ '"»« ^^on'Pany', ,tage. I*. /oAn. Damn the company, ''• ^^" --'* <^ the company. I^ 7i WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS eonpuij MY«d you when you nerer cxpeetod to bt Mvad. The comptny put you on your kgi, and put the theatre on iU lege. The conpMiy gare you two thouMuid pounds' worth of iharet for a goodwill that wm worth nothmg. The «»>PMy gave iharce to Mr. aeland and Mim Blackwood for arrean of salary, and the same to Mrs. Vernon. My brother and I bought shares. On all these shares the company will pay good interest, if only a little common-sense is shown. Surely Mrs. Vernon has deserved better of you than to be dismissed! Without her St. JohiK Without her I shouldn't have had your help. Sir C. Exactly, since you care to put it that way. St. Johm. Well, since I care to put it that way. Sir Caiarles, I don't know that I'm so desperately grateful. What have you done, after all? You insisted on an orchestra, to keep the audience from thinking. You invented a costume for the programme girls and made a rule that they must be under twenty-five and pretty, and you put up the price of the programmes from twopence to sixpence. You plastered the West End all over with coloured posters that would make a crocodile swoon. And that's about all. Sir C. I put order into the concern. And I gave you the support of all my journals, including the most powerful daily paper in London. ACTII TT PowwfuJ dailjr paper in Lor. j, ,. ' .„, . I»l« m London WW f., u,r.4 u. f.f l««m.J punt, of Ih. EIi..b.lh«, dr„„„. ■" ;^l-od.,o„ ought not to h.««c.pt«,':^ . *'-''°** ^^i™. Sir ChnrH don't Toutrr to come the miffionain. oyer me Y™. i7 . miffion.i„ in ,„„ pH™t. :'^l:'^Tl^ Tott d„c«„ the the.t« with me w„ ^ ^« -"Who doe...* h..w what L.;^ 7« WHAT THE PUBLIC WANT8 Mr$.C. Chief , you're losing your temper. ^ St. John. Shut up! Sir C. You are the manager, but Fm the largest shareholder, and I hold all the debentures. I can always outvote you. I won*t consent to Shakespeare being shelved. Shakespeare was your own idea, not mme. Why can't you stick to it? Why do you want to produce a morbid play that muit fail? You may take it from me, I've got no use for a frost. Every one knows I'm in the Prince's. I don't choose to be associated with failures. And, above all, I won't consent to the dismissal of Mrs. Vernon. Is that clear? St. John [approaching hkn, very qwetly^. Do you want to get rid of me? Sir C. No. I only want you to bdiave reason- ably. St. John. Oh ! That's all you want, is it? Will you buy mc out? Sir C. Certainly, if you wish it. St. John [furiouMly]. WeU, then, do! I re- sign! See? I resign. You've saved a fine enter- prise, and ruined it at the same time. Cleland's your man. Put your two wooden heads together, and you're bound to make a howlmg success of the Prince's. Cleland'll carry out your theories for you. Cleland's notion of realism in art is potted primroses on a river's brim. Get at it at once. In six months you'll be playing musical comedy at the Prince's — [pause} and " house full " over ACT II 79 ^n^''"" ^''r^^ifl-^ thing that', never «fc °" ' '""« **« "I"!* buflding up. .4T '' """ "~*»"»J- She w„.t tW „ dir C. [a/'ier a ^nce at EmUvl T»ii ♦ i .. Jou later in the day wifh ^' . *«^«Phone i>«ven'ttin,enow! ^ '''*'PP*'»*"«»t. I Sir Charles. [Exit.] »««»*.J Splendid, ^««y. I must go too [n«„^j. m WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Sir C. Here! Wait a bit. Sit down half a Annate. You can*t go like that. EmUp [titt]. I don't suppose there ever was another man as rude as the Chief. What a bmte! But he*8 always the same — simply never cares for anything except his own ideas. There's nothing he wouldn't sacrifice for them. Nothing! Sir C. Well, he'd got me to deal with ! EmUy. The thing that surprised me most was the way you kept your temper. Sir C. Oh! that's nothing! I can generally keep my temper when I see the other man is losing his. It was only when he began talking about favourites that I nearly let myself go. Emily. Seeing us together last night at the theatre — that must have made him think we'd been plotting against him. Sir C. And yet we hadn't, had we? I don't know even now what you really think about that play. EmUy. The Lion't Sharef I quite agree with you that it wouldn't have a chance with the public. Sir C. But you think it's a fine play? EmUy. Why do you think I think that? SUr C. Well, from what you said last night. Ewiy. I was careful not to say. We both rather kept off it, I thought. Sir C. Then from what you didn't say. EmUy. Yes, I think it's fine. 81 ACT II EmUy. Ye.. mean whJ ^°" ^ *^P^*^ it *« "w-I mean what jou see in it. ««— i •2?«ay. Oh! I can't exDiain Tf»- • * of taate. explain. It a just a ma*ter 1/ rJU »r r *'°™ t^'O'^ it over. But If The Merchant of Venice wpr» - / I wouldn't mind tL w/vl ^** ''"*^*^^' «a*i«Ar, ""'^L^ons Share bemg done at rm too inteUectual. *«!*«* »t « because SirC. Of course JOU can act. ^««y. How do you know? V«». «een me. ""^ »«▼«■ ^irC. I'm sure jou can. ■»WC. Happen? Nottingl The the.*- -m ta.wth.«dbe.,™p„^ In fact, I brought it iii m WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS on, because things were bound to come to a crisis between St John and me sooner or later, and sooner is always best. So I came to a clear under^ standing with Cleland in adyance. EmSiy. Did you? Sir C. Yes. I had to know exactly where I stood. And Cleland is a very good man. You'll see. m make that theatre hum. EmUy. It was awfully good of you, sticking up for me. Sir C. Not at fJl. I'll sign you a contract for three years if you like. Emily {nervoudy^. Well, of course Pm not in a position to refuse offers of that kind. But really you are awfully kind. I must tell you — ^I'd no idea you were so good-natured. Most people have got an entirely wrong notion of you. / had at the start. SirC. How? EmUy. They think you're as hard as nails. And the truth is you're fearfully good-natured. Sir C. No, I'm not. Emily. Well, look how you've behaved to me! I can't thank you, you know. I never could thank any one for anything — anything serious, that is. Sir C. {pletued at tki» revelation; confiden- tiaUy]. That's funny, now ! I'm just the same. Whenever I have to thank people I always begm to blush, and I feel awkward. EmUy. I know, I know. [After a paute.'\ And ACTn j_ y* I ought to thank vou -n.- 7ou'»e «TOi „,. ' '""• '*" "»1'« twice ^^C. S.™,,„„, WUt „. ,„„ ,^i„^ •U"i««ting^I Kkete l'\ '"' °°'<»'8''tn't to speak Neverro;k blcTt.7r'»'^,'° "ncomfortlble. yet-the«„t L . *'°«'' '•"*'' P"'«f! And to Joke a^Tt 'ZiT^Z^ «"- ' --fa 1 m always look ni? back af fKo* 7 «-... Without ai.tr;-- ^,- -<•-"; 84 WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS . . . And now you say a contract for three yean ! [Gwe» a great righ of relief.] Why, it's heaven; it's simply just Paradise ! Sir C. [going to door, R., and opening it}. I say, Kendrick. Just see I'm not disturbed, will you? Put a boy outside my door. Kendrick [of]. All rig^t! Meeting stiU on ! Sir C. Yes. [He puts red disk up, and then comes back to EmUy.] Now — er — ^look here, of course I'm rather peculiar; I can only do things in my own way ; but look here — there are one or two things I want to talk to you about. To begin with, do you know why I've never been to a performance at the Prince's when you were in the cast? EmUy. No. Sir C. Well, it was because I didn't want to see you acting in public. [Walks abou^.] EmUy. But Sir C. I'm like that, that's all. I knew you were obliged to earn your living, but I couldn't stand seeing you doing it on the stage. You may call it sentimental. I don't know. I'm just tell- ing you. There's another thing. Do you know why I insisted on you and old woman Cleland be- ing on the Board of Directors? EmUy [shakes her head]. I don't think any- body quite understood that. Sir C. Well, it was because I thought if you were on the Board I should have good oppor- ACT n 88 matter before vou in * .^* " P^^wg the -B««y. Charlie! —1 caii'l UH it I Wk-, r I . Oinou. thing •wfuBy fond „f y„^. * ""^ ^ «° «7. "r» «»t without bring i^a,w. J "^^ ' -J- «» the -oHt^ri eflr/ T,:.""'' •^'»« - to b. rao.t rottMj, Lm . ; "" '■™ '"J 86 WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS Emiff. Perfectly. Fm just the same. Sir C. Art you? That's aU right then. I suppose everybody from the Five Towns it. Well, what do you say? EmUy. It*s so sudden. Sir C. Oh! damn it all, Emily. That's really a bit too thick, that is ! After what Pre told you ! Are you going to sit there and stick me out that you*d no idea I was above a Ut gone on you? EmUff. I — Oiarli^ you are awful ! Sir C. Did the idea ever occur to you that I might ask you to marry me? Or didn't it? £iiw^ [iifUr a pt m te }. As questions are being put — ^whoi ywi got up this morning did you in- tend to propose to me t&-day? Sir C. No. But every morning I say to myself, ** One of these days I shal h»ve to do it.** EmSff. When did you make your mind up to do it to-day? Sir C. About five minutes ago. Emiy. Why? Sir C. Because of the way you talked. How do I know? Because you made me feel so queer. I couldn't bear for another minute the notion of you worrying yourself to death about a living and the future, while all the time I — I There are some things I can not stand. And one of 'em is your worrying about starvation. . . . It's quite true, I am as hard as nails, but I'm all right. No- Acrn m f%^* ^"* • "^'"^'on "d • quMter. Emly. Well, can't you we how ridiculou. it i.. jou marrying me? I haven't a cent. Sir C. Now, listen here, Emily. If you're ^mg to talk non.en.e we'll chuc/it. WhaT," the na..e of Heaven doe. it matter to me if J" haven't a cent? ^ EmSif. I— I don't know SirC. No. I. hould imagine you didn't! Zi' J" *** P*''**'- Why.youcouM^ piactically anybody. ^ •Sw-C. I know. Emay. WeU, why don't you? j«rC. Becauw I don't. You're the «,rt of woman for me. What you «id ju.t now i. true Emly. What was tkat? Yo!l^* Vfu " ^"''^y ^""^^ •°'* °' •tide. You re an ntellectual woman. I know Pm not ^ very mteUectuaJ. but If. only intellectual people that mt^rest me all the same. ^f»%. Charlie, don't call yourself namesl You've done a Rood bit for me as It J.. "^ ^ ^««|^. Why, what have I done? *ir C. It's thanks to you that I'm in thi. thea- 88 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS tre affair. And I Ukc that Iff the kind of thing Fm after. And do you know who gave me the idea of giving a hundred thousand to QzfordP You I The fint time you were here! EmiSg. ReaDy? SirC. Certainly. lEmUy. I ought to tell Oxford about thai Sir C. We should have the finest house in Lon- don, you know. Td back you to do the hospi- tality business as well as any duke's daughter that was ever bom. YoiiM soon get hold of the right people. Ewiy. What do you mean by the right people? Not what they call ** society " people? Because if you do 1 SW C. [itamping hu fooi^. No, no ! Of course I don't. I mean intellectual people, and the john- nies that write for the reviews, and two or three chaps in the Cabinet. I could keep you oiF the rotters, btD.use I know 'em already. Einily. I^'s all too dazzling, Charlie. SWC. Not a bit. I used to think that million- aires must be different from other people. But I'm a millionaire, and I'm just the same as I as as dazzle goes, there^s well tell you tiiat. always was. As far nothing in it. I may Well ? Emiip. I can't give you an answer now. Sir C. Oh, yes, you can. You must Fm not the kind of man that can wait ACT n gg ^JmUi,. Myde.rCh*rle.,Ido«o«knowirh.H ^•rC[^^^,rfj. When .haU you know? *«M»y. I c«n*t fay. SirC. Honest? Of course. But can't you give an idea? Of what? ^ ^- Whether it'U be yes or no. ^^mdi, Itrith an outraged air}. Certainly Sir a WeU, I can teU you one thing: if you throw me over-I-I don't know what I diaU do No, rm danued if I do. ^««y['*#y]. Good morning, Charlie. S*rC. Look here. Why are you cross? 'I'imy. rm not cross. Emay. SirC. EmUy. SirC. you were. SirC. You look as if ^_„.^ Emay. WeU, good morning. iShe goes to *-. ^^^^opey it. Boy i, )een .laJlu^ *^';^Jhen .ke .hut. the door a^ retunTfo Sir C] EmUy. I [Sir C, after gaxmg at her ^e^y .e^. her and hi..e. L^Z^HT' sif/' irt''^^ ' ^'^ '"°'' *" *he time, oir c. What are you crying for? MtatOCtm MMUITION TBT CHART (ANSI and BO TEST CHAUT No. 2) 1.1 ■a 12.8 lit §Sm m - U iSm 12.5 I '-25 I 1.4 1.6 /APPLIED IM/K3E Ir 1653 Eait Moin StrMt RochMttr. Nm Yorii I4«09 USA (7t») 482 - OMO - Phon* (716) 288 - S989 - Fm 90 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS EmUy {ktcoruequently and weakly}. This kind of thing must be awfully bad for the heart. Sir C. lrefUctioely'\. Well! So that's done. I say [JTwM her again. The telephone heU ringe. They start guUtUy.] Sir C. {at inatrument}. Hello! Who is it? Yes. It*sme. Oh! [To £may] It's Francis. Emily [pluckUy]. You mustn't tell him. Sir C. No, no, of course not. [At inetrument.'] What did you say? Yes. Yes. She's— er— still here. All right. I say, he doesn't seem like giv- ing way, I hope? . . . Good! [Rings off.] Sir C. Francis has gone off with St. John to the Garter EmUy. The Garter? Sir C. The restaurant where we generally lunch. He wanted to warn me to go somewhere el'-e. He says St. John is quite calmed down now, but the sight of me might rouse him again. Like Francis, isn't it? EmUy. I forgot to tell you that no one must on any account know for at least three months. Sir C. AU serene. But why? EmUy. I can't do with it seeming too sudden — after the scene this morning, and with Henrietta here, too ! Besides, when it's known, we shall have to go down at once to Bursley, to see your mother. You may depend on that ! Sir C. Think so? I don't seem to see myself doing the happy lover in Bursley. ACT II 91 iSmOt,. Neither do I Buf i* •., And I mu-t have time t it T" "°"* ^ «>**• ^««y. me^r''*^^^'"^^'«-i»e«,ehP ^•'C. The Carlton? 9^» a Utile boyiZJZr^" '' ^°°^ «' ^> glee, then fin^s^^u'^nt "T"' '^ "''^^^'^^ iCurtain.] ACT III Notes ox ths CKABAcma Tk« wkoU atmoiphtire of thU act it provineial John Worgcm.— Sir Charles's elder brother. Successful doctor in an industrial town. Overworked. Nervous. Thin. Hi^7 educated, with very artistic tastes. A great scomer of unintellectual people; and a great scomer of the public. His lip soon curls. With that, a man of the finest honour. AgeiS. Annit Worgan.—HlB wife. The matron. Capable. Sensible. Sli^tly "managing." Her husband has given her a certain culture, but fundamentally she is a hausenvife. She knows that she is always equal to the situation. Nicely dressed. Age 35. afrt. IToryoi*.— John's mother. Stem, but very old. Worries hersdf about nothing; is intensely proud ot her sons, but is never satisfied with them. She and Annie, by mutual concession, get on very well together. Dressed in black. Age 67. Mn. Down«t.—A widow. A good provincial "body." Stoutish. Has money. Perfectly independent. Very good- natured. Strong common-sense. "Dour." Age about 6i; but better preserved than Mrs. Worgan. Jamtt BrindUy.—A successful manufacturer. Blulf. Kind. No fineness of perceptions. Loud voice. The aver- age sensual man. Age about 46. Edward Brindley.— His son. Nervous, shy, but sturdy in defending his own opinions. Quite boyish in manner. Age SI. AU these people are fundamentally "decent" and sagacious. 92 ACT ni 9S 9s '*> "!« To^. "Z^" f^L"! *"*»• *• Mr,. D. iadvancingl. u fi.„* CIS? ^'J- ^s that jou, Fran- i/'^^t' \"f' ^'^' '"^' Mrs. Downes do^ »* «'' [r^^ry ,^^^ ;^^^ "ownes, doesn't Afn n r* .*";«**• J How are JOU? ■"•fan* up . bit f„ "„ " 2 * "^ '" ■" yo"'" -"» c«,e „e„ «,e „«;„'::*"" ^"" "■» 70„ Francis. Qh, ves Ti,- -ooner! For you Wof ' ^°" *^ ^*^« <=«'»« know. ^ " "^^ «°* « Srood heart, that I do Francit. Well «-« »x r- only a visitor.' E^il^r.r^ *° «'* ^ownP you know-^ut I mutt do tT. ""' '**^'"« ^^^ Have this easy-c Jr ^°"°""' ^ «"PPo«e. to do the honours^or 1 i„ ^°° ' J'^"* ^'J^^'ody lorme in your brother John's 94 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS house. I lay I know this house better than you do. How do you find your mother? Francis. Very flourishing. Mn. D. She w wonderful, isn't she, consider- ing her age. Francis. You and she are as thick as ever, I suppose? Mrs. D. Bless ye, yes ! It's many i long year since she and I missed having supper together on a Sunday evening. Two old widows! {Conft- dentiaUy.l My word, she did want to have this supper to-night at her own house ! But it would have been too much for her. Your sister- in-law wouldn't hear of it, and she was qu'.te right. Francis. Of course ! What does it matter, after all? The mater only has to step across the road. It's very convenient for her, living so close to John. Mrs. D. [even more ctmfidentially}. It saves the situation. Especially as your sister-in-law is so good. But you can understand your mother wanting to have the supper at her own house, can't ye? Francis. Oh, yes. Mrs. D. [in a more lively, more orcUnary tone}. And where's the great man? Francis. Charlie? The fact is he hasn't come. Mrs. D. [astounded]. Not come! But I was told that you and Charlie and Emily were all ACTm ^ ^Tcttcis So w •■"•"Of it I We ..JTJ^"''^ •»"»«"« "Wit to „y h.y ;S tte\ '^*'*" *"• <"' »"t "o! Not , „™|| *""■ "■• """"""g- -^l^b^]:!"' ' ''"'"^ •*"«' ^-"" ".other •» 'topping i„ to tali te CWHe 7"" "" °"»* -"-» '••'•"•t you „y i*r:i, ^ «""' 'J««"t •■" Not bee, tr sZtlf^'" ^'"*' ^°"' «o» Phying „, thi, ,4"7 '" «™ y««, «rf ilfr«. /> pL "■otierinurt bei;r ^'"" » ■«•«• «. 96 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Mn. D. The children ill? Annie. Sickening for something. John's ex- amined them. He thinks it may be measles. But he isn*t sure. He's just been into the surgery to make something up, and now he's gone across to his mother's to see if there's any fresh news. Mr$. D. And Emily, where is she? Annie. She's in the nursery. Mrs. D. Poor thing! How upset she must be! Annie. Oh, Emily takes it very well. I expect she knows her Charlie. Anyhow, she isn't one to work herself up into a state for nothing. Mrs. D. I'm glad to hear it. What a good thing for him he's marrying a sensible girl ! After all, there's none like a Five Towns wife, that I do say, go where you will. [Enter John, L.] John [mth fdUe calm}. Well, he^s cwne. Hello, Mrs. Downes! Mrs. D. Eh, but that's a relief. John. He's bt .. at the mater's about half an hour. {^Shakes hands absently zeith Mrs. Doumes.} It seems he was kept by something unexpected yesterday — something about the Mercury — he's very vague. Wired last night, but of course too late for delivery here! Started out in his motor this morning early, and had a breakdown near Tring that lasted seven hours. Cheerful! No telegraph office open in this Christian country! No train ! However he's here — car, chauffeur, and all! He's sent the car down to the Tiger. ACT in 97 "•n where he k He know. p„f.rtly W he L^t^.tf t?f ?,.■" •" »*« ^-O wait .uppei-j 'J "'"' '"S 'haU « i,„ to John. We sIiA'n't k '^/'-heaero.tl-IlVe-Jt'"'"'^-''^ of m>mm.J Have von J!7 ^"fwternj «on. •-Ki .ervo„r'crdmr /v'" °' "^ «*<» administer one part iT *'«L<^"»' Part., and oir.prine Y„„!!- J . "'■ °^ y"" nwrvellom " »• """■"'ghtalM relieve Pm;i.> . "^etj. a. to her joong man ' """^ 96 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Amri*. Come along, Mrs. Downei, and takt a peep at the ehiclu— if you aren't afraid of meaales. Mrt.D. Me! [Exit Mr$. Downn and Amii. John tmiiUi to himself.} Francii. Well, how does he strike you? John Icondetcendmgljf]. Oh! he*i the same as ever! Now, he*t nervous, if you like. What would huve kept him yesterday, do you know? Francis. Haven't the least idea. John. I thought you were in the counsels of the firm now. Francit. So I am. And it*s the most enormous lark that ever was. But I never show myself on Saturdays. John. Lark, is it? Francis. Well, you can imagine what fun it must be from the Mercury. John. You don't suppose I read that thing, do you? Francis. You miss a treat then. I hadn't used to read it. But now I wouldn't be without it. We've just got a new musical critic. I collect his pearls. Here's one [takes a cutting from hit pocket] about the concert that Elgar conducted on Friday : ** Sir Edward took his men through the initial movement of the Dream of Gerontius at a smart pace. They responded willingly to his baton." John \impresseS\. It's too fearfully wonder- ACT m M 'ul. imt itf I M. _!,., . J2*V ™""" «""""• ^'t:.-^Z Z'." "r 'T *™ ' - •*»*•«,«. '^ •' •*•«• from th. |p*H -kh^ without rsL^."-''"'- '«»-«»■! *'*<«». Howdo,Joh,? 100 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Wherc't the boyP J ohm. How do, Jim? [Thty do not ahakt haitdi.] BrMUy. He'i coming « bit later. How do, Francif? FrancU [shalcing hands]. How do, Jim? BrindUy. So youVe come down from the Til- lage, then? Framcia. Yet. [Brigf awkwardntts.] BrindUy. And where'i the great man? John. Charlie? Oh, he'll be acroti soon with the mater. He's only jutt turned up. Came in hit motor and had a breakdown. BrindUy. Oh! had a breakdown, did he? What's his make? John. Motor? Don't know! What is it, Francis? Francis. Don't know. He's got sereraL BrindUy. Lucky devil! Did you see that joke in the Winning Post yesterday about the chauffeur and the chambermaid? John. Jimmy, about once a week I have to explain to you that my chief object in life is to avoid seeing the Whmmg Post. Have a drop of vermouth before supper? BrindUy. A split soda's more in my line to- night; but I'll never say die! [Crosses the room to help himself: as he does so, to Francu.] You wouldn't think, to hear him talk, that he was as fond of a tasty story as any of us, would you, Francis? ACT in 101 •"»» '«> Am'* know whit l«». ■ 'urn. In th, „„• .,"..'"'' "• »>y poor *«r^- ^*' "•»'•'«»» print .Uth. .^ ITf-e. a paper fro^ZJoZf "" "" '^' •'»»<•. What i, it, ' "'■' lot WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS John, Never see it. BrMUy. It's dne of Master Charlie's papers. John. But if I had to read aU Charlie's papen I should have my hands full. BrindUy. They've been giving a series of ** Fa- mous Crimes of Passion " every week now for a long time. They must rake 'em up from old news- papers, I reckon. To-day's is the Ashby-de- la-Zouch double seduction, specially illustrated. In 1881. John. I always thought there was something sinister about Ashby-de-la-Zouch. Brmdley. And look here. John Impatiently}. What? {He reads from the paper.} « Next week. The famous Dick Downes case." What in the name of Heaven ? Fran- cis, do you know anything about this? Francit {ahakei hi$ head}. I've scarcely seen the paper except in bundles in the motor^vans. What is the famous Dick Downes case? Downes Surely it's nothing to do with John. Don't you remember it? Dick Downes was a Town Councillor of this town. It was a filthy thing. I can recoUect as weU as anything what a perfect deuce of a sensation it made- must be thirty years ago. Dick Downes was our Mrs. Downes's brother-in-law. He killed him- self. Francis. 1 believe I have some vague recoUec- ti(m of it. ACT in IN •fo** IihouUaayao! ^ '*"'*" »»^'«8™« right b«,g.<,ii. chological moment/* "ThT * P*^" •*What the doctor .aid.'. ""^^"""' ^****'" -^o** fifing, of fj^^ , in that stvie— r rp! •*• , , ^°'^*" «^ "J^^jL™"^' '•" •""■■'' "»' «»" f*.* 104 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS ahiJce handi.'] Well, Sir Charles, glad to see jt. {Shake$ hand$ mth Sir ChaHn.} John. Look here, Jim, I don*t think there's got to be any sirring. Titles are very useful in business, but we don*t want to be bored with them here, eh, Charlie? SirC. Quite right. Brindley. You must excuse your brother, Charlie. If he isn't wearing a red necktie it's because he forgot to put it on this morning. Sir C. \laugh$]. How do, Francis? Francii {nodt\. Well, you're a nice chap! Sir C. Yes. Mra. W. What's the latest about the children, John? And where are Emily and Annie? John. Annie and Emily will be here in a min- ute, mater. I believe the children are still alive. Mra. W. John, I do wish you wouldn't talk like that. Sir C. Measles, I hear! John. Probably. Sit down, mater. Sir C. How did they catch it? John. I'd give a sovereign to know. Sir C. I see you've got a new under-draught grate there. Mra. W. Fancy the boy noticing that! John. Have you noticed my new bookcase? Sir C. Ah, yes ! Where did you pick that up? John. Old Harrop's sale. [General au^civard- neaa increatea.} ACT m 105 ,; ^^"— tne weather, you know r..„ got a anatt car myself. ^ "^ Sir C. Have you? h...' there w^ jl?^ f^T*' "''''"' ' "««' T«ti.j:.^""* '"»"«^' » - I've g»t lou .r ^^tio.'^"' '"'•• "■" " »'^ »™ P-t rf iriay.»T' ^""^ ""^^ «")• G. „., 106 WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS Johm. And ju«t look how he's ihoved this book bMk! Sir C. [to BrMley]. And of course with no telegraph office open ! Jolm [at hg adjutU book on ahelf, wmumt twrnmg towardg Sir Charln]. Now, there's a, thing you ought to take up in one of your mij^ty organs! Sir C. What, Johnny? John [tummg to «m]. The impossibility of telegraphing after 10 A.if. on Sundays. It»s simply criminal Ask any medical man. You mij^t work it up ihto one of your celebrated Mercury sensations! There*d be some sense in that! Sir C. No good at all John. Why not? Sir C. No genuine public interest in it. John. I don't know that tbire was such a deuce of a lot of genuine public interest in your famous campaign against Grermany, my boy. Sir C. Oh! that's all over, now. Mrs. W. Eh, I'm thankful We don't want any wars. Brindlejf. I saw the other day you had a leader ■aying that friendship with Germany must be the pivot of our foreign policy, or something like that. Sir C. Wen, you see John. Who are you going to war with next, ACT m 107 1%F7 W. ^ ^' ^" ^*» from what I •nj boom. ^ '''•^"P*' I^P^« «!» the ~ther f„ TeZd./ ^o-ght »e „«r«I„. ,„t further. An'd w^^J" t ^"""^ ""t wmehow. «°* '" •«"« «» Sentina I '"d . «„.t deJof a:„;^l ™ .« «»l»i«n. --.eide.. xttoo^j'^lt*.^'^^ 110 WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS it out. I did my level best to catch the Uat train, and missed it lEnitr Edward BHttdky, L^ Annie. Here he is! Young man, what have you been doing to be late? JoAn. Teddy has been writing his play, I bet Mr$. W, I hope he hasn*t forgotten what day •a. ■ it IS. Edward. Good evening, Mrs. John ; good even- ing, Mrs. Worgan. [Shake$ hands.] Sorry Vm late. Good evening Ishaking hands with John}. John. This is "Hn. Vernon, formerly of the Prince's Theatre, Teddy. This is Francis, dra- matic critic of Men and Women, and this is Charles, boss xtl the said theatre. You may be said to be in the theatrical world at last. But don't be nervous. [To the others.] Let me introduce Edward Brindley, dramatist [Edward shakes hands.] Sir C. So you want to write plays, do you? Edward [to John]. I say, Mr. Worgan, why have you started right off talking about me like this? Annie. People who come late must expect to be conspicuous. John. Besides, you don't imagine you're asked here to-night in your private capacity, do you? Not a bit. You're asked as a playwri^t. Why! he's had a play performed at the Drill Hall! It ACT HI 111 *^°"»'» d^t^utTLiw T '^ "T -r good. "^ ■°"' •' U»» «. p,rtt, ^-^ Qh-Iooki.„,j„,, T«M,? '"'""PlVfajOBrpocbt, ^»«>n«. No '^^ •" «to"t it. *" Pfe .re there! ■;/" ""'"°'' "«" "^d of ^. like^t""" "'" ^""* -"""'y. comno. p«,pfe_ rnre rowns people. Ill WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Fromeii. We iha'n't care much for that, w« critics! Jolm. There! What did I tell you? Edward. Why not? Francii. Why not? Well, you lee, we're al- most all of us come from the provinces, and we try to forget it. We live m clubs in Pall Mall or Dover Street, and we never leave them until it*s time to go to the theatre. We don't even rvad about the provinces, except occasionally in Brad- shaw. . . success? Edward. Francit. London. Edward, London. FrancU. Edward. I suppose you want to maJu a great Yes. Thon I should alter the scene to But I don't know anything about All the better. I'm sure you're only rotting me. [To Ewiy.^ Isn't he? Emily. I don't know. But you stick up for yourself. FnmcU. Of course I'm not rotting him. Who are the folks in the play? Edward. Well, it's a Wesleyan Methodist set — they're very strong in the town, you know. FrnncU. Oh, I see. It's a farce? Edward. No. It's very nearly a tragedy. Francis [thakei hii head]. Won't do! Won't have a chance! If you want to make a London ACT m 118 aiM. ' "* "»»'** ixKiM win g, int. "-,' -on.. «,i,k it^r;^'^" '" • '"«■ ^^ % poor young „«,, « »■;•:«'..•...'. ndrdon'^rr' t*"^ done, this pjaj? "*® '^ " Jt nearlj I 114 WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS Edtford. It it done. I flnulMd It to-night Frond*. WeU, I ndlj don*t know what to mjI A rate-coUector in a new cottage down Braughan Stmt, Burslej, and all Methodists t When wen you thinking of tending the plaj to start withF Edward, I thought I'd try it on Gtaorge Alexander; I believe in flying high. Fnmcis. The very mant I nerer thought of him! [AttUmgk.] Edward [« on the „„hi,, ,^^„^"' J"" *«». win «o dovetail in „„, "i"° """»• ^' l*" .. rf^ *"' yo" »»« •top it Tfc. .I- -f «^Ie. utterly uatti^b^;'- Tk« Unng". „. wr jou d have seen it ItO WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS too late. And jou wouldn't have thought twice about it. But just because I*m he re John [angtHyl. Shouldn't I have thou^^t twice about it! Sir C. No. After all, what is it? We're just re- printing what was conunon property twentj-five jears ago. It isn't as if it had been kept private till now. How can it affect Mrs. Downes? Shs wasn't in it. Even her husband scarcely appeared in it. John. Rot! It will be a reflection on the whole Downes family. * It must necessarily be very unpleasant for any member of that family. Sir C. I can't help that. Dick Downes should have thought of that before he began murdering. If I had to be always considering about being unpleasant to people, I should have something to do — ^with forty papers. Look here, Johnny. You're awfully clever and intellectual and all the rest of it; but you're looking at this in rather a provincial way. If you'd lived in Londcm more John. Don't be idiotic! London's the most provincial town in England — invariably vulgar, reactionary, hysterical, and behind the rest of the coimtry. A nice sort of place England would be if we in the provinces had to copy London. I'm looking at it in a provincial way, am T Well, it's a good thing I am ! Sir C. There you go! That's the provincial ^i"*!? ACT m ISl ■'°*" r«B««rf»]. To the de»a with »«.„ • fc C. I .., I i,„ on tamenw org««,K„- «n-k„o™ preacher TJ .1 f™°° ""^ * that comes ud to th«» \r -*u ' ^ P*P«' '»" of parcel, and myZZl" 'V"" fa.o«. and read al. oL tte^orid Xof "^ met complicated piece, of »-.!, • . •" of jo„™fii.„. ir,„i":^rt"'*:''j* with H j»t beca„.e .n oldT^^lp^n^t^T «. the «„e hou« a. I am! IsJruHj'^ *" ** mechani.™ i. ^ h"" '^ """?"<**«» J->ur ■upper table, th^ "Zf Z^JT '°T "' lig WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Sir C. Nonieiue! How can it hann her? It doesn't touch her. All ihe has to do is not to read it. It isn't so much the expense and the awful inconvenience of stopping the thing that I object to-- John. Then what do you object to? Sir C. The principle. John. Principle! I must say youVe got a nenre, you have, to talk about principle! Sir C. Pve got my principles, like anybody else. John. You've got too many principles, Char- lie. That's what's the matter with you. You've got one for the Mercury, and another for this Sunday rag. Sir C. Don't be childish! You surely ought to be able to see, with your brains, that I can't be the same in forty different papers. I've no desire at all to ram my personal ideas down the throats of forty different publics. I give each what it wants. Pm not a blooming reformer. I'm a merchant. John. On Sundays you're a muck-merchant. But you've no right to commit a nuisance. Sir C. Rubbish! AU I do is to reflect the public taste. And that's why the Mercury, for instance, is the most powerful newspaper in Eng- land to-day. John. Yes, among errand-boys — ^I believe. Sir C. [reaUy vexed for the fint time}. You ACT m 1S8 newfai't talk like that C- «» TOUT brother ^^ «»""«.*«». I'm onlj •n «b«ut thepuHic Y„?7 i ""' "• ^•" *-• tie public „ iU.! ic^l",*"" «• «* C. I rf,j«^ to the wort. pr^t.*"' ''°" "»'*!««' 1 8«t n,«t .f tt. do you ttii I c.„ jl„"* '"^'■"•J. And "■y table, o.e of whom U^LT^ ^ """ " gratuitou. exposure of ^^^, "'' "■"* <>' « •thert lif.-4nd u^t ^J""' -""t. in the Wl.««»r M„. D„w„« Lotl.r "1^ '^'' « not i. beride tte pTt 8h T f* '"^ C^'t you see tk.t ,k -I . ®'" "^ ""ow it j^jy MTO ,„u got no MMe of decency Sire. A«n't you tallLing . bit UUf IM WHAT THE FUBUC WANTS n Johm. No. Sir C. Well, then, you mean you'd like me to go? lEnter EmUy un$een at fir$t by the brother§. She has the newspaper in her hand.} John. How can I answer that? There's the mater to think of. Sir C. Well, I never guessed Bursley was such a hole! John [who has seen EmUy]. Think it over a moment. I'm going into the surgery for a second. [Half to Mmself.} I suppose that con- founded supper is waitipg. [Exitt L.] EmUy [deeply disturbed\. Charlie! Sir C. Yes, you may well say ** Charlie ! " Pve brought you into a nice family, upon my soul! I suppose the mater's been telling you about this preposterous business. [EmUy nods."] Well, I must confess I'd no idea John was such a frantic prig. . . . Because I run a paper to sell, and I happen to No, I'm damned if I can make it out ! I'm damned if I can, and that's flat. EmUy. There's your mother to be thought of. She is very upset indeed. Sir C. My dear girl, I came down simply to satisfy the mater. That's all right. But Vm not going to have my family interfering with my business. It's too ridiculous. Why doesn't Francis knock some sense into some of 'em? Where is he? Cleared off, of course! That's Francis all over! ACT III Ifff «"«. «d fill tt. palTw^ •,"°'' "» "«"' """Mow c*»» lie ouBirt fCur/oi^j ACT IV Scent: Sam m Act L Time: Aftemotm. Sir CharUe and Kendrick are eiMng together. Sir C. [handing document to Kendrick}. I think thafU do, for a draft. Be iure to have it typed with wider spacet between the line* thia time, so that I can lee to read it better. Share- holder! don't like heiitationt, especiaUj in figures Kendrick. Yes, VM attend to that. Sir C. [rubbing W« hands}. WeU, now there's the question of new developments, Kendrick. Kendrick. I should have thought we'd devel- oped enough to satisfy anybody, for the moment. Sir C. My boy, when I read that report, show- ing a dividend of thirty per cent., and a reserve of four hundred thousand pounds, and a total annual circulation of seven hundred million cop- ies, what do you suppose will be the first thought in the minds of the shareholders? Gratitude? Not much! Their very first thought will be that we ought in mere justice to give 'em thirty-five per cent, next year instead of thirty. Kendrick. Greedy swine! ise ACTIV U» t'OM, and that thi. .wl . *'*" *'«»^ your .ctivitie. i.t TC"!,'*'^™* »' condition." extrenwljr wtiafactorj ^endrick. No. Not yet. »•»■ C. Kendrick, I belW. » i_ »«• for that chap r«^r ^ f ' «*** • ''•^- wi-^ri^t^o'^k^^^^^^^^^^ But -•tirf/youV"^^"' *^' "'^* '^'^ «'°»th»l That Kendrkk. Oh! »]) ..;«k4 .• lao WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Sir C, You needn't tell me he*g growing old. I don't care if he's ninety and the onlj support of his aged mother. He doesn't understand religion, and so he's no use to us. ISoftening.} You might offer him a sub-editorship, if you like. There's something vacant on Racing lUtutrated, isn't there? Kendrick. Think he'd accept it? Sir C. He'd accept it right enough. Besides, there's no compulsion. He can leave it if he likes. Now, listen, about new developments! [With an important air.} I've got something! Kendrick. Yes? Sir C. The DaUy Mercury and the Courier are going to become the militant organs of the women's suffrage. You understand — ^the militant organs. Kendrick. It's an idea! Sir C. I should think it was an idea ! Kendrick. And what about the Courier** cele- brated question after the big House of Commons raid six months ago? Sir C. What question? Kendrick. "Why not revive the ducking- stool? " Sir C. Did we say that? Kendrick. We said it across four columns. It'll want some explaining away. Sir C. Oh, no! We've been converted, that's all. Quite simple. Just see how public opinion ACT IV 181 through! ""'"""""'"Uffrag,, right •.. .. % dear feJIo. :, , , ;f. aU „v„ e«ept the IhTut r""" ' '"" «»* " «•«. mj. foot But 1 ' * ' ''°"'<^'' *<>"<* «>«■•' Ju.t the „!:„■'- l"":'"" "-^ ^"O «k' up the glory, ij. '" >" '-> «n,e i, „j «*« me not ,„4::::° ■— -^"gis., *e .„ "0 «et *t .ri:^^? "^r ^' «^«. ieenoait. """I'm*- She', trigbUauj Sir C. No I'm t^*'- She-i U cl,f "? "> "* '-• l«ly nuiMnce. """°« h"*- She'd be , j/^iu^^?^^^^^^^^^ W .and. ^' were, run after vou B„f ^'°'* ^'-« n'>'^;~her hopes— I ^"' *' ^°"''e engaged ^^C. Mj dear chap, r„ „„x . P. im not going to write 18« WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS to Lady Calder. She's one of the kind that never give up hope till you're dead. We can manage this campaign without Lady Calder. Now the first thing is — ^there are six suffragettes in Hol- loway. The Mercwry has got to get 'em out. We must begin on the Home Secretary. Kendrick. Yes, but [Enter Page-boy with a card.} Sir C. limpatientlyl. What's the use of the red disk being up? [Taking card.} Oh! Run down and tell his lordship I'm coming. [Exit Boy. Sir Charlea gets up and takes his hat.} It's Lord Henry Godwin. He wants me to go down to him [taking stick and gloves}. I thkk I know what it is [Enter Francis, L.J Francis. I say, Charlie. Sir C. Can't stop now. Sha'n't be long, I expect. [Exit Sir Charles, back. He hurries, but tries to appear deliberate.} Francis. I was going to tell my brother that you had better look out for another dramatic critic for Men and Women, Kendrick. Kendrick. Really? I'm sorry to hear that. Doctor been forbidding you to go out at night? Francis. No! It's simply that I can't stand that capricious widow any longer. Kendrick. Capricious widow? What capri- cious widow? Francis. The capricious widow. I came up specially yesterday from a holiday in the Five ACT IV 188 every ph, r„ ,ea„ .nd .he «t.' . ""^^ ow. ch„„, be.„t,, witfut eJt.nt" crotchet., and sldrt-whisldn™. .. i. • ^^"^ efect » „^ c„„.t.w"*; 2 trr,"™"' be condemned to see her -»• , "' ^ ""o to «., execution. * "^ "'"*""' '«'''« 1 8" ^rawM. Mrs. Vernon 1 S,V rk^ • . But ask her to comeT ' " '"" ^■ tte n,e.ning oftto f**^" *-«*] What's -«^:!:z'^rth!»r''T to make up t„ Charlie's absencT '^'^ frf::^^i:ri "--•"'*«''. -.-e^tood. *'jin8forawo„.„rharto., "".'^ "^ ""^ % o, her future h^b^l^^^^ .^"f *' W "^ lact IS, some one 1«4 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS ought to apologise to you on behalf of the family, and Vm inclined to do it myself. Emily. Don't be affected, Francis. You know as well as I do that John and his wife are just my sort of people, and I'm sure that nobody could have been kinder than your mother. Franeit. Well, as a matter of fact, I suppose we did come through Sunday night rather well. After the shindy, the supper was really a credit to every one concerned. I was proud of us all. • . . I expect these episodes must happen in all families. . . . Still, I felt relieved, you know, when Charlie announced on Monday morning that he could only do what John wanted by coming to town himself. And to be candid, Em Emily. Oh, Frank— with your candour . . . ! Francis. I wasn't what you may call sorry when I had to come back myself on Tuesday for that play. I was only sorry after I'd seen the play. By the by, I've decided to give up dra- matic criticism. EmUy. Why? Francis. I'll tell you. I can't stand the wise, gentle, cunning, well-dressed philosopher of fifty. I assure you I can't $tand him. EmUy. Which one? Francis. There is only one. He is appearing simultaneously in eleven West-End theatres. I don't mind Sherlock Holmes; I don't mind Rufus Isaacs; I don't mind Marcus Aurelius. But when ACT IV ISA these three are aH tied together with . «• , 'trmg and aiultipKed hy efeve^ lid S!'"".°^ nomenon very bad fnr * ^^ *^® Ph«- ^"Sji. ToMChariie? -»"%. I walked up. Has* h. ^ * daj? *^ "*" "« gone for the much longer withouf ^u" ^""^ ^°" ^^'^'t «ve arrive? *^^ °"* '""'"« ^- When did you Enay, I've just come. *V«c» [after a paa,e]. Now l<„,k l,e„ ^m _J»^^ Not .t .„. ci..* ^ . J4°^ vZT"- ^^ «-«' «»- ,o„ W lept tW 186 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS 1 i Emily. You and I saw him off on Monday morning, didn't we? Franctt. Yes. The parting seemed to lack none of the proper ceremonies. And no doubt since then you've exchanged letters. Emily. We've scarcely had time to exchange letters; but he's written to me, since you are so curious. Franc'u. Curiosity is my greatest virtue. Not had time! \Pau»e. Emily ihvia her lipa.l I hope his letter was all that it ought to be. EmUy [irofucaUy »mling\. Would it interest you to read it? > Francu. Because I gather vaguely that he spent most of Monday in massacring the whole staff. Yesterday he was less homicidal. To-day he is like an archangel. By the way, he hasn't stopped that series altogether — ^in the Sunday Mommg Newt. He's just changed the Downes case for some other case. I suppose you know? Emily. No, I didn't. Francit. There are some things that Charlie doesn't tee. Emily. What do you mean? Francit. I mean he has a blind spot. EmUy [^tarcatticaUy^. And you haven't en- lightened him? Francit {alto tarcatticaUy']. No. We must leave that to you. You are the only person who ACT IV 187 can enlighten him-with your caregses! Ivery tltghtly accentuating the laat word\. Emiiy. Frank, truly I don't know what». come over you to-day. You say we're pals, but francU. Emf [With an mpuUioe .light movement toward, her. Enter SW Charie,, who M very iurpriaed to tee Emtty.} Endly Itelf^oneciouelyl WeU, Charles, I'm here, you see. [Froaci. make, a ge,ture to indi- cate that he perceive, he i, in the way, and exttf L.\ SirC. So this is why there was no letter from you this morning! Eimly [a, he approache, to hi,, her\ Better not kiss me. SirC. Oh! En^y. I've got a cold. [/« a firmer tone, a, he ,m approache, and ,eize, her hand,.} No, really! I mean it! Sir C. Iwith a ge,ture of uncomprehending ntb- «««tm]. Nothing wrong, eh? I hope the mater hasn't been EmUy Now please don't say aU that Francis has just been saying. It's extraordinary how each of you Worgans imagines that the rest of the family is impossible to get on with. Your mother and I agreed perfectly. girl. IStt, down near her.} I was only wonder- mg why you'd come back so suddenly. 188 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS EmUy. Suddenly? I slept four niglito in Bursley. One night was enough for jou. SirC. It <• a hole, isn»t it? Well, anyhow, rm glad you're here. News, my child, new* ! EmUy. Indeed? Sir C. Did you see a carriage and pair at the door when you came in? Enuly. Yes. Sir C. Lord Henry Godwin's. He won't have a motor, you know. He sent up to ask me to go down and speak to him. EmSy. I understood you and he weren't on speaking terms— after—after that epigram of his. Sir C. Oh! errand-boys? What do I care for his epigrams— now that it suits me to play up to him? EmUy. 1 should have thought that he might have come up here to see you, instead of you going down to his carriage. Sir C. Gout. And he was in a deuce of a hurry. Besides— the point is that his uncle is Chancellor of Oxford University. It was his uncle who sent him to me. They want to make me an honorary D.C.L. EmUy. What for? Sir C. WeU, considering that I'm by far the largest subscriber to their special fund! D.C.L. of Oxford? That's something, you know. I only wish it could be conferred before our an- nual meeting. It would make some of them sit ACT IV 189 «P. that would— a DPT r «_• over a meet.W of Wor^. u ^^'^^^ Pwiiding Em, that idea of vourf > *^'''^' ^ ^^ •«>«. handsome to the Tar^lv "' T"*^ •°'°**'»»« you ever had. ^' " **•* ^'^^te-* idea Enay. It wasn't m^ idea at aU. -h? I've knowrfor/r l- ^•^•^- °' Oxford, thinking of it "' *^^ *^* *% were ^w%. What does DPT -♦ j ^ « iSir r r./; i« "I'X. stand for? something. TRUeMt^ »oack\. It»« Doctor of ™y' I»uppose8o. ■' Str C. Ithuttine bonh ^*j. Clyil Law. that's ft^tr/t T^- °-*- °^ be a Doctor of Civi Law IT^ ^'"' ' "h«« I^Ws, which hi" i!!; 1r' ''"' """^'"« *he niostinteUectual theatre in L ^ '"""^^'^ *h« ^'n. running it at a progf °1? ^•*'— » I -nust tell you it ^'' * '^^^^h^' thing suffrage for all it's worff °-°*; *? "" ^^"'^n'- «nd the Cotert^ y J°'^'^ !" ^'^ ^^^^ Mercury on Monda, ^^in^^' ^^^^^^ ^rn the traif: -- since. You'/quiteri^tl^"^"^^* °^^' ™«» are on that side, and nf ''^*^*'*"* to win. It'H be positi'verp^p^Ts''" "^T tnne. Don't jou think ^ J^"^ « «« «»onths» !> 140 WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS Emay. I don't know about it being popular. Sir C. [a Utile doitud]. Don»t you? [D0- cuheljf.] WeU, anjhow I shaU take the risk. FU make it popular. And to begin with— IVe set- tled one thing in my own mind— if your little friends the raiders aren't let out of Hollo- way, quick, the Home Secretary will have to be shifted. EmUy. Shifted? Sir C. And the Mercury will shift him. EmUy. But it isji't his fault. Everybody knows that. Sir C. I don't care. He's the figurehead, and he must suffer. Emly. But what shall you dof Sir C. I shall run a campaign against him, of course; a Mercury campaign! You'll see, you'll see ! I say— what about that house in South Aud- ley Street? EmUy. House in South Audley Street? Oh, yes : you mentioned one in your letter. Sir C. I want us to go and look at it at once. The fact is, Em, I'm simply dying to see you doing the hostess in my drawing-room. I haven't begun yet, and I want to begin, and I can't till we're married. Let's go along to South Audley Street now, eh, as you're here? I feel like a spree ! Emly. Oh, not now ! SirC. Why not? ri^ J ACT IV 141 I./^t. ' *'""' """ *^" *« «» to South Aud. Wluif iru .f~,i fcJ._ " *** *««»« moment *"«»• Notliiiig. ^^». »-t th.t ,.„ „„ „„„__^^ ^ **" C-. Oh! that's it I*. ;*D ^ "gw- IpwfwMtto ft^-f ? ' "•""» 14t WHAT THE PUBUC WANTS confcMl What did you mj on Sunday nightP You admitted you couMo*t appreciate the argu- ment, and you aeked me to itop the artiek juit to please you. You said it was the first time you had ever asked me to do anything for you. And I gave in at once. I thought you were satiifled. Well, it seems you aren't. I offer to give in further, simply to pkasc you, thouf^ Fm taking hundreds of pounds out of my shareholders* pock- ets and acting against my own judgment into the bargain, and you try to sit on me by saying that you don*t want me to do anythmg simply to please you. What do you want? Whatever it is, you shall have it. Fye no intention of bickering with you. That's not my style. Bui I should like to know where I stand. EmUy. I hate the thought of you doing any- thing simply to please me — I hate it ! Sir C. Then why did you ask me to, on Sunday? EmUy {imratrng out}. Can't you see? Because there was nothing else to be done! You must be blind ! The situation was merely unspeakable. It had to be brought to an end. And there was only that way of bringing it to an end. You weren't open to argument. You seemed to have no notion at all of what people's feelings were. So I just had to wheedle you into it! To wheedle yoo into it! Sir C. llaughittg tUghtly and eaaay}. Oh ! that ACTIV 148 WM .t? WeD. jau JuMi the bet of me. It juH ttowi lioir jou etn twiit me round your Uttle ftiger who, jou want to. That*, dl right! I mwe you a present of it • * / * .V*" "«*** **** '*^« ~»« »»^k to^ay -«d .tr«ght here from the .Ution! Th.f. L . I ""''" ^°"' I«tter-becau«j if Pd wrrtte, I .hould h.ve h«i to ..y something that iTr^f^l '"^P**** '*'■ *^ P~"^' :y«' too proud, not to ten you like this, f«:e to £.«. ^