THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Kenneth Maogowan
 
 v\
 
 GARSIDE'S CAREER
 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 DEALING IN FUTURES. 
 
 GRAFT. 
 
 THE ODD MAN OUT. 
 
 ONE- ACT PLAYS. 
 
 THE PRICE OF COAL. 
 
 LONESOME-LIKE. 
 
 THE OAK SETTLE. 
 
 THE DOORWAY. 
 
 SPRING IN BLOOMSBURY.
 
 GARSIDE'S CAREER 
 
 A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS 
 
 BY 
 HAROLD BRIGHOUSE 
 
 M.S.C 
 
 CHICAGO 
 A. C. McCLURG & COMPANY 
 
 1915
 
 Printed in Qrtot Britain
 
 TR- 
 
 6003 
 
 <f 
 
 TO 
 A. N. MONKHOUSE 
 
 572322
 
 Amateur Societies wishing to perform this play should 
 apply to the author's agents, Messrs. Samuel French Ltd. , 
 26 Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C., from 
 whom permission must be obtained.
 
 Produced for the first time by Miss Horniman's Company at the 
 Gaiety Theatre, Manchester, on February 2nd, 1914, with the 
 following cast 
 
 MRS. GARSIDE .... Mrs. A. B. Tapping 
 
 MARGARET SHAWCROSS ..... Irene Rooke 
 
 PETER GARSIDE ...... Milton Rosmer 
 
 DENIS O'CALLAGHAN . Herbert Lomas 
 
 KARL MARX JONES Charles Bibby 
 
 NED APPLEGARTH Percy Foster 
 
 FRED MOTTHAM Horace Braham 
 
 GLADYS MOTTRAM Beatrice Terry 
 
 LADY MOTTHAM ...... Muriel Pope 
 
 TIMSON ....... Leonard Mudie 
 
 The play produced by Douglas Gordon.
 
 GARSIDE'S CAREER 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Interior of an artisan cottage. Door centre, leading direct 
 to street, door right to house. Fireplace with kitchen range 
 left. Table centre, with print cloth. Two plain chairs under 
 it, one left, one centre, facing audience. Rocking-chair by 
 fireplace. Two chairs against wall right, above door. 
 Dresser right, below door. Small hanging bookcase on wall, 
 left centre. Window right centre. On walls plainly framed 
 photographs of Socialist leaders Blatchford, Hyndman, 
 Hardie. The time is 7.0 p.m. on a June evening. 
 
 MRS. GARSIDE is a working-class woman of 50, grey- 
 haired, slight, with red toil-worn hands and a face expressive 
 of resignation marred by occasional petulance, dressed in a 
 rough serge skirt, dark print blouse, elastic-sided boots, and a 
 white apron. She sits in the rocking-chair, watching the 
 cheap alarm-clock fretfully. Outside a boy is heard calling 
 " Last Edishun." She rises hastily, feels on the mantel- 
 piece for her purse, opens the door centre and buys a paper 
 from the boy who appears through the doorway. She closes 
 door, sits centre and spreads the paper on the table, rises 
 again and gets spectacle-case from mantelpiece. She sits 
 with spectacles on and rapidly goes through the paper 
 seeking some particular item. 
 
 The door centre opens and MARGARET SHAWCROSS enters. 
 She is young, dark, with a face beautiful in expression 
 rather than feature. It is the face of an idealist, one who 
 would go through fire and water for the faith that is in her.
 
 10 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 She is a school teacher, speaking with an educated voice in a 
 slightly apparent northern accent, dressed neatly and service- 
 ably. MRS. GARSIDE turns eagerly as she enters and is dis- 
 appointed on seeing MARGARET. 
 
 MRS. GAR. Oh, it's you. I thought it might be 
 
 MAR. (closing door, sympathetically). Yes. But it's too 
 early to expect Peter back yet. 
 
 MRS. G. (with some truculence). He'll not be long. He's 
 always said he'd let his mother be the first to hear the 
 news. 
 
 MAR. (gently). You don't mind my being here to hear 
 it with you ? 
 
 MRS. G. (rising and putting spectacles back on mantel- 
 piece, speaking ungraciously). No, you've got a right to 
 hear it too, Margaret. (MARGARET picks up paper.) I 
 can't find anything in that. 
 
 MAR. Peter said the results come out too late for the 
 evening papers. 
 
 MRS. G. He never told me. (MARGARET folds paper on 
 table.) I'm glad though. There's no one else 'ull know 
 a-front of me. He'll bring the good news home himself. 
 He's coming now as fast as train and car 'ull bring him. 
 (Sitting in rocking-chair.) 
 
 MAR. Yes. He knows we're waiting here, we two who 
 care for Peter more than anything on earth. 
 
 MRS. G. (giving her a jealous glance). I wish he'd come. 
 
 MAR. Try to be calm, Mrs. Garside. 
 
 MRS. G. (irritably). Calm ? How can I be calm ? I'm 
 on edge till I know. (Rocking her chair quickly.) 
 
 MAR. (trying to soothe her). It isn't as if he can't try 
 again if he's not through this time. 
 
 MRS. G. (confidently, keeping her chair still). He'll have 
 no need to try again. I've a son and his name this night 
 is Peter Garside, B.A. I know he's through. 
 
 MAR. (sitting in chair left of table). Then if you're 
 sure
 
 i] GARSIDE'S CAREER 11 
 
 MRS. G. Yes. I know I'm a fidget. I want to hear it 
 from his own lips. He's worked so hard he can't fail. 
 (Accusingly.) You don't believe me, Margaret. You're 
 not sure of him. 
 
 MAR. (with elbows on table and head on hands). I'm 
 fearful of the odds against him the chances that the 
 others have and he hasn't. Peter's to work for his living. 
 They're free to study all day long. (Rising, enthusiasti- 
 cally.) Oh, if he does it, what a triumph for our class. 
 Peter Garside, the Board School boy, the working engineer, 
 keeping himself and you, and studying at night for his 
 degree. 
 
 MRS. G. (dogmatically). The odds don't count. I know 
 Peter. Peter's good enough for any odds. You doubt 
 him, Margaret. 
 
 MAR. No. I've seen him work. I've worked with him 
 till he distanced me and left me far behind. He knows 
 enough to pass, to pass above them all 
 
 MRS. G. Yes, yes ! 
 
 MAR. But examinations are a fearful hazard. 
 
 MRS. G. Not to Peter. He's fighting for his class, he's 
 showing them he's the better man. He can work with 
 his hands and they can't, and he can work with his brain 
 as well as the best of them. 
 
 MAR. He'll do it. It may not be this time, but he'll do 
 it in the end. 
 
 MRS. G. (obstinately). This time, Margaret. 
 
 MAR. I do hope so. 
 
 MRS. G. (looking at the clock). Do you think there's been 
 a breakdown on the cars ? 
 
 MAR. No, no. 
 
 MRS. G. (rising anxiously). He said seven, and it's after 
 that. 
 
 MAR. (trying to soothe her). Not much. 
 
 MRS. G. (pacing about). Why doesn't he come ? (Stop- 
 ping short.) Where do people go to find out if there's been 
 an accident ? It's the police station, isn't it ?
 
 12 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 MAR. Oh, there's no need 
 
 [PETER GARSIDE bursts in through centre door and 
 closes it behind him as he speaks. He is 23, clean- 
 shaven, fair, sturdily built, with a large, loose mouth, 
 strong jaw, and square face, dressed in a cheap tweed 
 suit, wearing a red tie. 
 
 PETER (breathlessly}. I've done it. 
 
 MRS. G. (going to him ; he puts his arm round her and 
 pats her back, while she hides her face against his chest). My 
 boy, my boy ! 
 
 PETER. I've done it, mother. (Looking proudly at 
 MARGARET.) I'm an honours man of Midlandton Uni- 
 versity. 
 
 MAR. First class, Peter ? 
 
 PETER. Yes. First Class. (Gently disengaging himself 
 from MRS. GARSIDE.) 
 
 MRS. G. (standing by his left, looking up at him). I knew, 
 I knew it, Peter. I had the faith in you. 
 
 PETER (hanging his cap behind the door right, then coming 
 back to centre. MARGARET is standing on the hearthrug). 
 Ah, little mother, what a help that faith has been to me. 
 I couldn't disappoint a faith like yours. I had to win. 
 Mother, Margaret, I've done it. Done it. Oh, I think 
 I'm not quite sane to-night. This room seems small all 
 of a sudden. I want to leap, to dance, and I know I'd 
 break my neck against the ceiling if I did. Peter Gar- 
 side, B.A. (Approaching MARGARET.) Margaret, tell me 
 I deserve it. You know what it means to me. The 
 height of my ambition. The crown, the goal, my target 
 reached at last. Margaret, isn't it a great thing that I've 
 done ? 
 
 MAR. (taking both his hands). A great thing, Peter. 
 
 PETER. Oh, but I was lucky in my papers. 
 
 MAR. No, you just deserve it all. 
 
 PETER (dropping her hands). Up to the end I didn't 
 know. I thought I'd failed. And here I'm through first 
 class. I've beaten men I never hoped to equal. I've
 
 i] GARSIDE'S CAREER 13 
 
 called myself a swollen-headed fool for dreaming to com- 
 pete with them, and now 
 
 MRS. G. Now you've justified my faith. I never 
 doubted you like Margaret did. 
 
 PETER (looking from her to MARGARET). Margaret did ? 
 
 MAR. I didn't dare to hope for this, Peter at a first 
 attempt. 
 
 MRS. G. (contemptuously). She didn't dare. But I did. 
 I dared, Peter, I knew. 
 
 PETER (putting his arm over her shoulder). Oh, mother, 
 mother ! But Margaret was right, if I hadn't had such 
 luck in the papers I 
 
 MRS. G. (slipping from him and going to where her cape 
 and bonnet hang on the door right). It wasn't luck. Even 
 Margaret said you deserved it all. 
 
 PETER. Even Margaret ! (Seeing her putting cape on.) 
 You're not going out, mother ? 
 
 MRS. G. (with determination). Yes, I am. There's 
 others besides Margaret doubted you. I'm going to tell 
 them all. I'm going to be the first to spread the news. 
 And won't it spread ! Like murder. 
 
 [MARGARET sits L.C. 
 
 PETER. Oh, yes. It'll spread fast enough. They may 
 know already. 
 
 MRS. G. (turning with her hand on the centre door latch). 
 How could they ? 
 
 PETER. News travels fast. 
 
 MRS. G. But you haven't told anyone else. Have you, 
 Peter ? (Reproachfully.) You said you'd let me be the 
 first to know. 
 
 PETER. I met O'Callagan on his way to the Club. He 
 asked me. I couldn't refuse to answer. 
 
 MRS. G. (energetically). He'd no right to meet you. A 
 dreamy wastrel like O'Callagan to know before your 
 mother ! 
 
 PETER. He'll only tell the men at the Club, mother. 
 
 MRS. G. (opening door). And I'll tell the women. They're
 
 14 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 going to know the kind of son I've borne. I'm a proud 
 woman this night, and all Belinda Street is going to know 
 I've cause to be. (Sniffing.) O'Callagan indeed ! 
 
 [Exit MRS. GARSIDE. 
 
 PETER. And now, Margaret ? (He stands centre behind 
 tabU.) 
 
 MAR. (looking up and holding out her hand across table ; 
 she takes his, bending). Oh, my dear, my dear. 
 
 PETER. Are you pleased with me ? 
 
 MAR. Pleased ! 
 
 PETER (rising). Yes. We've done it. 
 
 MAR. You, not we. My hero. 
 
 PETER. We, Margaret, we. I'm no hero. I owe it all 
 to you. 
 
 MAR. (rising). You owe it to yourself. 
 
 PETER. You inspired me. You helped me on. You 
 kept me at it when my courage failed. When I wanted 
 to slack you came and worked with me. It was your 
 idea from the first. 
 
 MAR. My idea but your deed. 
 
 PETER (sitting centre, behind table). I've had dreams 
 of this. Dreams of success. I never thought it would 
 come. It was there on the horizon a far-off nebulous 
 dream. 
 
 MAR. (standing right). It's a reality to-day. 
 
 PETER. Yes. It's a reality to day. I've done the task 
 you set me. I've proved my class as good as theirs. 
 That's what you wanted, wasn't it ? 
 
 MAR. I wanted you to win, Peter. 
 
 PETER. I've won because you wanted it, because after 
 
 I won I knew that you (Rising.) Has it been 
 
 wearisome to wait, Margaret ? I had the work, lectures, 
 study. You had the tedious days of teaching idiotic 
 middle-class facts to idiotic middle-class children, and 
 evenings when you ought to have had me and didn't 
 because I couldn't lose a single precious moment's chance 
 of study.
 
 i] GARSIDE'S CAREER 15 
 
 MAR. That's clean forgotten. To-night is worth it all. 
 
 PETER. To-night, and the future, Margaret. 
 
 MAR. (solemnly). Yes, the future, Peter. 
 
 PETER. This night was always in my dreams. The 
 night when I should come to you and say, Margaret 
 Shawcross, this have I done for you, because you wanted 
 it. Was it well done, Margaret ? 
 
 MAR. Nobly done. 
 
 PETER. And the labourer is worthy of his hire ? I ask 
 for my reward. 
 
 MAR. (shaking her head). I can give you no reward that's 
 big enough. 
 
 PETER. You can give the greatest prize on earth. We 
 ought to have been married long ago. I've kept you 
 waiting. 
 
 MAR. That had to be. They won't have married 
 women teachers at the Midlandton High School. I couldn't 
 burden you until this fight was fought. 
 
 PETER. And now, Margaret ? 
 
 MAR. Now I'm ready if 
 
 PETER. More if 's ? 
 
 MAR. A very little one. If you've money to keep us 
 three. No going short for mother. 
 
 PETER. You trust me, don't you ? 
 
 MAR. (giving hand). Yes, Peter, I trust you. 
 
 PETER (bursting with thoughts). There's my journalism. 
 This degree 'ull give me a lift at that. I shall get lecture 
 engagements too. 
 
 MAR. (alarmed). Peter, you didn't do it for that ! 
 
 PETER. I did it for you. But I mean to enjoy the fruits 
 of all this work. Public speaking's always been a joy to 
 me. You don't know the glorious sensation of holding a 
 crowd in the hollow of your hand, mastering it, doing 
 what you like with it. 
 
 MAR. (sadly). I hoped you'd given up speaking. 
 
 PETER. I haven't spoken lately because I'd other things 
 to do. I haven't given it up.
 
 16 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 MAR. You did too much before. 
 
 PETER. You don't know the fascination of the thing. 
 
 MAR. (bracing herself for a tussle). I know the fascina- 
 tion's fatal. I saw it growing on you this desire to 
 speak, to be the master of a mob. I hoped I'd cured 
 you of it. 
 
 PETER. Cured me ? 
 
 MAR. I thought I'd given you a higher aim. 
 
 PETER. And that was why you urged this study on me ? 
 
 MAR. Yes. 
 
 PETER. Margaret ! Why ? (Backing from her, and 
 sitting centre during her speech.) 
 
 MAR. I've seen men ruined by this itch to speak. You 
 know them. Men we had great hopes of in the movement. 
 Men we thought would be real leaders of the people. And 
 they spoke, and spoke, and soon said all they had to say, 
 became mere windbags trading on a reputation till people 
 tired and turned to some new orator. Don't be one of 
 these, Peter. You've solider grit than they. The itch to 
 speak is like the itch to drink, except that it's cheaper to 
 talk yourself tipsy. 
 
 PETER. You ask a great thing of me, Margaret. 
 
 MAR. (sitting right). What shall I see of you if you're 
 out speaking every night ? You pitied me just now 
 because you had to close your door against me while you 
 studied. I could bear that for the time. But this other 
 thing, married and widowed at once, with you out at 
 your work all day and away night after night 
 
 PETER. But I shan't always be working in the daytime. 
 
 MAR. (alarmed). Not work ! Peter they haven't 
 dismissed you ? 
 
 PETER. Oh, no. I'm safe if anyone is safe. No one is, 
 of course, but I'm as safe as man can be. I'm a first-class 
 workman. 
 
 MAR. I know that, dear. 
 
 PETER. So do they. They'll not sack me. I might 
 sack them some day.
 
 i] GARSIDE'S CAREER 17 
 
 MAR. But how shall we live ? 
 
 PETER (impatiently). Oh, not yet. I'm speaking of the 
 future. Don't you see ? I'm not content to be a workman 
 all my life. I ought to make a living easily by writing 
 and and speaking if you'll let me. Then I could be 
 with you all day long. 
 
 MAR. (looking straight in front of her). Have I set fire 
 to this train ? 
 
 PETER. You don't suppose a B.A. means to stick to 
 manual labour all his life, do you ? 
 
 MAR. Oh, dear ! This wasn't my idea at all. I wanted V 
 you to win your degree for the honour of the thing, to 
 show them what a working engineer could do. Cease to 
 be a workman and you confess another, worse motive. 
 It's as though you only passed to make a profit for 
 yourself. 
 
 PETER. I can't help being ambitious. I wasn't till you 
 set me on. 
 
 MAR. If you listened to me then, listen to me now. 
 
 PETER (pushing his chair back and rising). I might have 
 a career. (Crossing to fireplace.) 
 
 MAR (still sitting). And I might have a husband. I 
 don't want to marry a career, Peter. 
 
 PETER (looking into fire, his back to MARGARET). I've 
 already got a local reputation as a speaker. 
 
 MAR. Then make one as a writer. I know you can. 
 
 PETER. The other's easier. 
 
 MAR. It's not like you to choose the easy path. 
 
 PETER. I've worked so hard. I did think that now I 
 might have some reward. 
 
 MAR. You've won your degree. 
 
 PETER (acquiescent). Oh, yes. 
 
 MAR. And I'm ready, Peter. (Slight pause.) 
 
 PETER (turning). Yes. You've conquered me. I'll 
 fight ambition down. It shall be as you wish, Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 MAR. (rising and going to him). Peter, oh, my dear,
 
 18 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 dear Peter ! You make me feel I don't do right. Oh, but 
 I know. I know. Speaking's so deadly dangerous. 
 
 PETER. I promise not to speak. I'll write. I'll stick 
 to engineering, and we'll have our evenings. 
 
 MAR. You make me very happy, Peter. 
 
 PETER. When are you going to make me happy, Mar- 
 garet ? 
 
 MAR. As soon as my lord pleases. 
 
 PETER. Your lord will be pleased in a month. 
 MRS. GARSIDE enters, centre. 
 
 Well, little mother, have you disseminated the in- 
 telligence ? 
 
 [MARGARET sits on rocking-chair. 
 
 MRS. G. (uncomprehendingly). No. I've been telling 
 folks about you. (She takes off bonnet and cape and hangs 
 them on door right.) Some of 'em's green with jealousy 
 this night. They know I'm the mother of a great man 
 now. 
 
 PETER. So you were first, after all ? 
 
 MRS. G. I meant being first. Who'd the better right to 
 be ? Me or a wild Irishman ? (Crossing to dresser and 
 emptying on a plate the contents of a parcel she had brought 
 in.) 
 
 PETER (smiling). And you've been killing the fatted 
 calf for me ? 
 
 MRS. G. (literally). Oh, did you want pressed veal ? 
 I've got ham. 
 
 PETER. I don't want veal. Food's not a bad idea, 
 though. 
 
 MRS. G. (looking at MARGARET). No. Margaret might 
 have thought of that and put the kettle on if she'd had 
 her wits about her. 
 
 MAR. (rising). I'm sorry, Mrs. Garside. We've been 
 talking. 
 
 MRS. G. You'd some excuse. Peter's given us some- 
 thing to talk about. 
 
 MAR. Let me help now.
 
 i] GARSIDE'S CAREER 19 
 
 PETER. We'll all help. I'll lay the table. 
 MRS. G. You don't stir a finger, my lad. Sit you 
 down. 
 
 [PETER sits with amused resignation in rocking-chair. 
 PETER. Oh! Why? 
 
 MRS. G. B.A.s don't lay tables. Now, Margaret. 
 (MRS. GARSIDE takes white cloth from drawer in table and 
 she and MARGARET spread it. There is a knock at the door. 
 PETER gets up. MRS. GARSIDE pushes him back into his 
 chair). I've told you to sit still. (She crosses to door 
 centre and opens it.) 
 
 O'AL. (visible in doorway}. May we come in, Mrs. 
 Garside ? 
 
 MRS. G. (genially}. Yes. Come in, the lot of you. 
 [The three who enter are working men in their evening 
 clothes. DENIS O'CALLAGAN is 35, clean shaven, an 
 enthusiastic impractical Irishman, small and dark. 
 KARL MARX JONES is 30, wears a formally trimmed 
 beard, is precise in utterance, doctrinaire in outlook, 
 and practical in procedure. NED APPLEGARTH is a 
 man of 50, his age carrying sober authority, very 
 earnest in manner, grizzled moustache, grey hair, black 
 cut-away coat and turn-down collar, a responsible 
 leader deferred to willingly by O'Callagan, un- 
 graciously by Jones. NED, entering last, closes 
 the door. Each, as he speaks, shakes PETER'S 
 hand. 
 
 O'CAL. (visible in doorway). Aye. Let us come in, for 
 it's a great night surely, and we fair bursting with the glory 
 of the thing that's done this day. 
 
 JONES. Comrade Garside, I offer my congratulations. 
 NED. Well done, youngster. (Turning to MRS. GAR- 
 SIDE.) Mrs. Garside, you've a son to be proud of. 
 MRS. G. Do you think I don't know it ? 
 PETER (his demeanour unfeignedly modest). Comrades, 
 Mr. Applegarth, it's nothing. I tried my best, but if I 
 hadn't been so lucky in my papers
 
 20 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 JONES (interrupting). You've passed. The others 
 were lucky, lucky in being men of leisure, sons of 
 wealthy parents with nothing to do but study. Don't 
 talk about your luck (bitterly) the luck of a wage 
 slave. It's like winning a foot race with your ankles 
 chained together. 
 
 O'CAL. It's the mighty brain of him that made him 
 win. 
 
 PETER. Comrades, don't give me praise. It wasn't I. 
 Something not myself got hold of me and urged me on. 
 Injustice ! Tyranny ! The consciousness of class. The 
 knowledge that in the eyes of my well-to-do competitors 
 I was an inferior animal. My hands are rough with toil, 
 the toil they batten on, and so they mocked at me for 
 daring to compete with them a man with a trade. They 
 know now what a working man can do with his brain. 
 They laughed on the wrong side of their fat faces, when 
 the list came out to-night. 
 
 O'CAL. Bravo! 
 
 JONES (sceptically). Are they all such cads ? I thought 
 there were Socialists among them. 
 
 PETER. Middle-class, kid-glove Socialists, Fabians. 
 
 NED (dryly). You're a fine talker, lad. 
 
 O'CAL. (to NED). And a brave doer, Mr. Applegarth. 
 
 NED. Well, well, a good start's half the battle, and 
 I'm not denying that a ready tongue's a useful gift. 
 
 MAR. It's a dangerous one, Mr. Applegarth. 
 
 JONES. Aye, when it's by itself. Not when it's backed 
 up by a knowledge of the principles of Karl Marx and 
 used to expose fearlessly the gross fallacies of the capi- 
 talist professors of economics. 
 
 NED (impatiently). Let's get to business. (JONES is 
 resentful.) Mrs. Garside's making supper, and we don't 
 want to^keep her waiting. 
 
 MRS. G. That's all one. Food 'ull be nobbut a 
 fraud. We're too excited to eat this night. Sit you 
 down.
 
 i] GARSIDE'S CAREER 21 
 
 NED. Thank you, Mrs. Garside. 
 
 [MRS. GARSIDE puts NED in chair, centre. PETER 
 and MARGARET bring the chairs right down stage, 
 putting one right, near table, the other left, JONES 
 sits right. O'CALLAGAN at table left, PETER on chair 
 he brings left of O'CALLAGAN, and MRS. GARSIDE 
 presently takes rocking-chair. MARGARET stands 
 L.C. well away from the rest, as if trying to efface 
 herself, after going off left and returning without her 
 hat in a moment. 
 
 (Sitting.) Peter, I've said it before, and I say it again. 
 You've made a good start, lad. 
 
 PETER. Thank you, Mr. Applegarth. 
 NED. A good start. And now, what comes next ? 
 PETER (going left, and meeting MARGARET as she re- 
 enters). Next ? This next, Mr. Applegarth. (Taking her 
 hand.) 
 
 NED (nodding). So. I mind I'd heard. Well, marriage 
 is a proper state. ( JONES shows signs of irritation.) And 
 you're a lucky chap to have Miss Shawcross for a bride. 
 I don't say anything against marriage. 
 
 JONES (hotly). Well, I do. Now and always. In a free 
 
 state marriage 
 
 O'CAL. (leaning across towards JONES, PETER and 
 MARGARET still standing behind near left door). And have 
 we got our free state yet ? Let you wait to be talking 
 of freedom and free-loving men and women till we've 
 had our glorious revolution, and in the dawning of that 
 
 day 
 
 JONES (leaping up, interrupting). There must be 
 pioneers. Some of us must set the example. (Appeal- 
 ing to PETER and MARGARET.) Even at the price of 
 martyrdom, of ostracism by coarse-minded oafs who 
 cannot understand, I call on you, Miss Shawcross, to 
 dispense with the worn-out form of marriage. Be free 
 
 lovers 
 
 NED. Comrade Jones, you're a married man yourself
 
 22 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 (JONES sits down abruptly, silenced), and we're here on 
 business. And after you're married, Peter ? 
 
 JONES (murmuring disgustedly). Married ! 
 
 PETER (lightly). Oh, live happily ever afterwards. My 
 horizon doesn't go beyond that. 
 
 NED. Doesn't it ? Well, listen to me. There'll be a 
 by-election here shortly. 
 
 PETER. Why ? (PETER leaves MARGARET and comes 
 forward to chair right of table.) 
 
 NED. Ramsden's resigning South-west Midlandton. 
 
 JONES. About time the old hypocrite did, too. 
 
 PETER. This is news to me. 
 
 NED. I know that. It was news to us last night. The 
 question is, do we run a candidate this time ? 
 
 PETER. We ought to. It's a labour scat by rights. 
 
 JONES. If only the thick-headed fools would see their 
 own interests. 
 
 PETER (turning). Margaret, you'll have to give me 
 back my word. (Slight pause.) 
 
 JONES. What word's that ? 
 
 PETER. I've promised to give up public speaking. 
 (They look at MARGARET in disgusted protest. She speaks 
 quickly.) 
 
 MAR. Oh, you shall speak if there's an election. 
 
 NED. That's right. All hands to the pump. 
 
 MAR. I'll speak myself. 
 
 O'CAL. It's a risky thing for you, Miss Shawcross. 
 
 MAR. The cause comes first. 
 
 O'CAL. Before bread and butter ? You'll lose your 
 job if they hear of it. 
 
 MAR. I must hope they won't hear. 
 
 NED. You're going too fast. There's two things in the 
 way. One's money. The other's a man. 
 
 PETER. Surely the Central people have a good man 
 ready to fight. 
 
 NED. No. We've got to find the man, before they help 
 us with money. They're a bit down on our chances
 
 i] GARSIDE'S CAREER 28 
 
 unless we find a strong local man. A local man should 
 pull it off where an outsider might fail. Problem is to 
 find him. 
 
 O'CAL. Faith, and we've found him. 
 
 PETER. Yourself, Mr. Applegarth ? 
 
 NED. I'm the wrong side of fifty, and I'm no speaker. 
 Guess again. 
 
 PETER. It's got to be a local man ? 
 
 JONES. That's essential. 
 
 PETER. I can't think of anyone who's big enough for 
 that job. 
 
 JONES. Nor we couldn't neither. We gave it up last 
 night and called another meeting at the Club to-night. 
 And there we sat, the whole executive, no better than a 
 parcel of tongue-tied fools, when O'Callagan bursts in 
 and tells us 
 
 NED. Yes, Peter Garside, B.A., there's you. 
 
 [MARGARET shrinks back still further. 
 
 MRS. G. (going round to him). Peter ! My son a Member 
 of Parliament ! 
 
 PETER (repulsing her). No, no, I'm not worthy. 
 
 NED. We're the best judges of that. 
 
 PETER (firmly). I'm too young. I'd be the youngest 
 man in the Labour Party. 
 
 JONES. Someone's got to be that. They need young 
 blood. There's too much antideluvian trades unionism 
 about the old gang. 
 
 O'CAL. It's a queer thing you do be saying, and you 
 without a grey hair to your head. It's a queer thing to 
 hear a young man making moan because he's young. 
 
 Mrs. G. (appealingly). Peter ! 
 
 PETER. But I'm (Hesitating and looking from one 
 
 to the other.) 
 
 NED. What? 
 
 PETER. I don't know. I never thought of this. 
 
 JONES. Think of it now. We've to act sharp if we're to 
 do any good at all.
 
 24 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 PETER (stitt wondering). And you've come officially to 
 offer it to me ? 
 
 JONES (roughly). Of course we have. Do you think 
 we're playing with the thing ? 
 
 PETER. It's it's awfully sudden. When do you want 
 my answer ? 
 
 NED. Now. (Seeing PETER'S distress, more kindly.) 
 To-night, anyhow. The whole thing 'ull be over in six 
 weeks. We've little enough time in all conscience to 
 create an organization. 
 
 PETER. And if I say no ? 
 
 O'CAL. Then one of the murdering blood-suckers that 
 live upon our labour 'ull get the seat, and it won't matter 
 either way which side wins, for it's all one to the working 
 man. 
 
 JONES. It's you or nobody. 
 
 NED (appealing). Lad, you'll not say no. I don't 
 say you'll never get another chance, because B.A.s are 
 sort of scarce in the Amalgamated Society of Engineers. 
 But I do say this. We want you. You've got a call to a 
 high place and a high duty. Are you going to fail us in 
 our need ? 
 
 O'CAL. We want you for another nail in the coffin of 
 capitalism, another link in the golden chain that's drag- 
 ging us up from slavery the way we'll be free men the day 
 that chain's complete. 
 
 PETER (smiling). And I'd be a nine-carat link, Denis. 
 I'm made of baser stuff than the great leaders who com- 
 pose that chain. I'm not worthy to aspire to a seat by 
 their side in Parliament. 
 
 JONES. There's such a vice as over-modesty. 
 
 NED. Nay, I like you better for being modest. You'd 
 like us to go out and come back in an hour or so. 
 
 MRS. G. Say yes to them, Peter. Tell them you'll be 
 a Member of Parliament. 
 
 PETER. Members of Parliament need electing first, 
 mother.
 
 i] GARSIDE'S CAREER 25 
 
 O'CAL. And are you doubting that you'll be elected ? 
 You've only to say you'll stand, and you can practise 
 putting M.P. after your name this night, for you'll have 
 need to write it certainly. 
 
 PETER (going to MARGARET). Margaret, what shall I 
 say? 
 
 JONES. You must decide this for yourself. 
 
 MAR. (coming forward a little reluctantly). Yes, Peter. 
 You must decide. No one can help you there. 
 
 PETER. Won't you tell me what you think ? 
 
 MAR. (firmly). Not now. No other mind than yours 
 can make this choice. 
 
 PETER (adrift). But, Margaret, you've always given 
 me advice. 
 
 MRS. G. (jealously). She wants to hold you back. She's 
 never had the faith in you that others have. She'd like 
 to tell you now you're not good enough for Parliament 
 only there's too many here to give her the lie. 
 
 PETER. Mother, mother ! 
 
 MRS. G. Oh, yes, I dare say, put Margaret first, Mar- 
 garet who doesn't believe in you, in front of all the rest 
 of us who know Parliament's not good enough for you. 
 It's the House of Lords you should be in. 
 
 PETER. I hope not so bad as that, mother. 
 
 O'CAL. We'll be taking a stroll round the houses, and 
 come in again presently. 
 
 PETER (turning to them). No. Don't go. I'll give you 
 my answer now. I've decided. 
 
 NED. Well. What is it ? 
 
 PETER. I'll stand. 
 
 NED. (shaking his hand). Good lad ! 
 
 O'CAL. It's destroyed I am with joy, and me after 
 thinking he wasn't going to stand at all. You'll be 
 elected surely, and we the nearer by another step to that 
 great glittering dawn that's coming to bring peace and 
 happiness to 
 
 JONES. Don't gabble, Denis. We've to work to
 
 26 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 organize for victory. I'm going to the Club to beat up 
 recruits. 
 
 NED. We're all coming, Karl. We're not going into 
 this with our hands in our pockets. 
 
 PETER (making for his cap). Yes. 
 
 NED (stopping him). Not you, Peter. You've earned 
 a rest to-night. You begin to-morrow. 
 
 PETER. Rest ! I shan't rest till after the election. 
 
 JONES. You've to keep your strength for the street 
 corners. We'll do the donkey work. Clerking's all some 
 of us are fit for. (Glancing at O'CALLAGAN.) You 
 can draft your election address if you want something 
 to do. 
 
 NED. You'll want every ounce of strength. Rams- 
 den's done us a good turn by resigning in the summer 
 time. They can have every hall in the town and welcome. 
 But open-air speaking night after night well, look to 
 your lungs. We'll watch the rest. 
 
 PETER. I'm in your hands. 
 
 NED. That's right. Take it easy now. You'll have to 
 sprint at the finish. Now, comrades. (Opening door, 
 centre.) 
 
 O'CAL. Good night, all. 
 
 JONES. Good night. 
 
 [PETER holds door open and sees them go, he, MAR- 
 GARET, and MRS. GARSIDE chorussing " Good 
 night," then he closes the door, and leans against it 
 as if dazed, passing his hand across his forehead. 
 
 PETER. My God ! It's like a dream. I can't get used 
 to it. 
 
 MRS. G. You'll get used to it fast enough. It's always 
 an easy thing to take your natural state in life. You 
 were born to be great. (Viciously.) However much some 
 folk 'ud like to keep you down. 
 
 PETER. Yes. I suppose I shall settle to it. (Coming to 
 chair right and sitting, MRS. GARSIDE is to his left, MAR- 
 GARET his right.) In a few days it'ull seem matter of
 
 i] GARSIDE'S CAREER 27 
 
 fact enough to be Labour candidate for the division. 
 But it hasn't got me that way yet. Margaret, when you 
 set me on to study for my B.A., you little thought it was 
 going to lead to this. 
 
 MAR. (slowly). No. I didn't think it would lead to 
 this. 
 
 MRS. G. (sharply). And you're not well pleased it has. 
 Some people can't stand the sight of other folk's 
 success. 
 
 PETER (protesting). Mother, mother, without Margaret 
 this would never have happened to me. I owe it all to 
 her. 
 
 MRS. G. (sceptically). Because she told you to study ? 
 It's a proper easy job to tell someone else to do a thing. 
 A fine lot easier than doing it yourself. 
 
 PETER. Come, mother, I can't have you quarrelling 
 with Margaret. 
 
 MRS. G. (sulkily). What does she want to go and dis- 
 courage you for ? 
 
 PETER. She didn't discourage me. 
 
 MRS. G. She wouldn't say a word for it. 
 
 PETER. She will now. Won't you, Margaret ? 
 
 MAR. What do you want me to say ? 
 
 PETER (surprised). Say what you want. 
 
 MAR. Then I say this : Go on and prosper. 
 
 PETER (relieved). Ah ! You couldn't wish me anything 
 but well. You see, mother ? 
 
 MRS. G. (grimly). Yes, but you don't. 
 
 PETER. Don't what ? 
 
 MRS. G. You don't see what she means. 
 
 PETER (confidently smiling at MARGARET). Oh, Margaret 
 means what she says. 
 
 MRS. G. And more. She doesn't want you to go into 
 Parliament. 
 
 PETER (puzzled, looking at MARGARET). Doesn't 
 what ? (Slightly pausing.) Speak, Margaret. 
 
 MAR. No. I don't want you to go into Parliament.
 
 28 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 MRS. G. (triumphantly). What did I tell you ? 
 
 PETER. But Margaret, why not ? Don't you see what 
 a chance it is ? Take it, and I go up, up, Fortune, Fame, 
 anything the prospects are tremendous. Miss it, and I 
 sink back to obscurity. You can't want me to miss a 
 chance like that. 
 
 MAR. I wanted to be married to you. 
 
 MRS. G. That's it, Peter. That's your Margaret all 
 over. All she cares about is herself. 
 
 PETER (ignoring her to MARGARET). Nothing's going 
 to interfere with that. Nothing on earth. You needn't 
 fear. We're to be married in a month. Exactly as we 
 fixed just now. A month ? It'll come in the thick of the 
 fight. 
 
 MAR. We can't be married while the election's on. 
 
 PETER (thinking aloud, enthusiastically). Oh, but we 
 must. We must. I hadn't thought of that. Weddings 
 are always popular. See what an advertisement it will 
 be. 
 
 MAR. (quietly). We won't use our love to advertise your 
 candidature, Peter. 
 
 MRS. G. To hear you talk, it might be something 
 you're ashamed of. 
 
 PETER. It's throwing away a golden opportunity. 
 
 MAR. I'm sorry, Peter. But I can't do that. 
 
 MRS. G. Won't, you mean. You want to see him de- 
 feated. 
 
 MAR. (with quiet force). I shall work till I drop to help 
 him on to victory. 
 
 MRS. G. You'll help best by doing what he asks. 
 
 PETER. I really think you might, Margaret. It's not a 
 new plan. I'm only asking you to carry out the arrange- 
 ment you made this very evening. You didn't object 
 then, I can't see what your scruple is now. 
 
 MAR. If you can't see for yourself that it's vulgar and 
 hideous and horrible to drag our love into the glare of an 
 election, I'm afraid I can't help you to see it.
 
 i] GARSIDE'S CAREER 29 
 
 PETER. I don't see it. Love's not a hole-and-corner 
 business. Why shouldn't everybody know ? 
 
 MAR. All who matter know already. 
 
 PETER. Only our own circle. 
 
 MAR. It doesn't concern the rest. 
 
 PETER (arguing hotly). Except as an advertisement. 
 We shan't have too much money to spend on printers' 
 bills. We can't buy hoardings like the capitalist parties. 
 And here's a glorious advertisement simply going begging. 
 We can have it at the cost of your forgetting some imagin- 
 ary scruple of delicacy. Elections aren't delicate affairs. 
 
 MAR. No. But our love is. 
 
 MRS. G. If your love's so finicky it can't stand day- 
 light, it's not worth much. A love like that 'ull not last 
 long. 
 
 PETER. You're right there, mother. 
 
 MRS. G. (eagerly). She wants to hold you back, she'd 
 like to see you tied to engineering all your life. For why ? 
 She's wild because you're going up in the world. She 
 knows she's not fit to go up with you, so she's trying 
 to keep you where you are. That's why she refuses to 
 help. 
 
 MAR. I don't refuse to help. I'm going to help. 
 
 PETER. Yes, anything except the only way that's help- 
 ful. I don't want other help. 
 
 MAR. You can't go without it. You can't stop me 
 working for the cause. 
 
 MRS. G. Yes, and you'd work harder for any other 
 candidate than Peter. I know you. 
 
 MAR. Not harder, but certainly with a better will. 
 
 PETER (soberly). Margaret, you're standing in my way. 
 Oh, I owe a lot to you. I don't forget it. But . . . But a 
 man has to rely on his own judgment. If I took your 
 advice, I'd wreck my career. You've always underrated 
 me. You thought I wouldn't get my degree. I did get 
 my degree. And I'll prove you wrong again. I'll be M.P. 
 before six weeks are out.
 
 30 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 MAR. I say again : Go on and prosper. 
 
 MRS. G. And she means you can prosper without her, 
 and a good riddance too, I say. 
 
 PETER. Do you mean that, Margaret ? 
 
 MAR. I think we'll wait a little, Peter. You've other 
 things to think of now. 
 
 PETER. You said that when I started studying. 
 
 MAR. I say it again now when you're starting election- 
 eering. 
 
 PETER (losing temper). And after that there'll be some- 
 thing else and something after that, and so on, till Dooms- 
 day 'ull see us still unmarried. I begin to think you never 
 mean to marry me. 
 
 MRS. G. It's about time you did begin to think it, too. 
 
 MAR. (suffering). Oh, Peter, why won't you understand ? 
 
 PETER. Because you're not reasonable. (Slight 
 pause.) Tell me this. Do you think I'm not fit for 
 Parliament ? 
 
 MAR. (painfully). Yes, dear. I do. 
 
 PETER (roughly). Don't call me dear. If that's the way 
 you talk, you're not dear to me. 
 
 MRS. G. I've seen it for long enough her thinking 
 meanly of you and the rest of us knowing different, and 
 you for ever hearkening to her as if she was Almighty 
 God. 
 
 MAR. (facing MRS. GARSIDE). I won't stand this. 
 
 MRS. G. You've got to. You're shown up now. 
 
 PETER. This means you've no faith in me, Margaret. 
 And if you've no faith, you've no love 
 
 MAR. (despairingly). Peter, you mustn't say such things. 
 
 MRS. G. You can't get away from the truth, my girl. 
 
 PETER. I say them because they're true. It's for you 
 to prove me wrong. 
 
 MAR. How ? Tell me how ? 
 
 PETER. Marry me in the month as we arranged, and 
 I'll go down on my knees and ask your pardon. 
 
 MAR, I can't marry you in a month.
 
 i] GARSIDE'S CAREER 81 
 
 PETER. Then it's true. You don't love me. You 
 don't believe in me. 
 
 MAR. I I think I'll go home. 
 
 [Exit MARGARET right, returning quickly with her Jiat, 
 which she puts on. PETER watches her go and meets 
 her as she returns. 
 
 PETER (appealingly). Margaret ! 
 
 MAR. No, Peter. I can't do it. 
 
 PETER (acquiescing). Then good-bye. 
 
 MAR. I shall see you often at the Committee Rooms. 
 Don't tell me I mustn't work for you. 
 
 PETER. If it was only for myself I wouldn't have your 
 help at any price. But, as you told us, you'll not be work- 
 for me but for the cause. (Grandiloquently.) In the name 
 of the cause I accept your help. 
 
 MAR. (simply). Thank you, Peter. I shall work hard. 
 Good night, Mrs. Garside. 
 
 [MRS. GARSIDE makes no sign. PETER moves towards 
 MARGARET, checks himself, and she goes out. 
 
 MRS. G. That's a good job done. 
 
 PETER. Don't talk about it, mother, please. 
 
 MRS. G. You can look higher than a school marm now 
 you're going into Parliament. 
 
 PETER (distressed). Please, please ! 
 
 MRS. G. (cheerfully). Oh, well, we'll have supper and 
 chance it. 
 
 PETER. Have yours. I only want this end of the 
 table. (Collecting paper, ink, and pen and sitting at right 
 end of table.) I must do something to forget. 
 
 MRS. G. What are you doing ? 
 
 PETER. Drafting my address. Hand me down that 
 dictionary, will you ? (Indicating hanging shelf.) 
 
 MRS. G. (getting large dictionary from shelf and putting 
 on table near him.) You don't want a dictionary. It's 
 all there in that brain of yours. 
 
 PETER. A dictionary's useful. People like to read 
 long words. It looks erudite, and costs nothing.
 
 32 GARSIDE'S CAREER [i 
 
 MRS. G. They'll never understand dictionary words, 
 Peter. (Poking fire.) 
 
 PETER. That doesn't matter. They'll be impressed. 
 (Dipping pen and bending.) Don't disturb me while I 
 write. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT II 
 
 Ornate drawing-room in SIR JASPER MOTTRAM'S house. 
 Centre is a large window giving access to a balcony. It is, 
 however, evening, and the drawn curtains conceal the balcony. 
 Door left. Light wall colouring and carpet. Fireplace right. 
 No fire. Chesterfield right centre. Light arm-chairs left and 
 left centre. Japanese screen before fireplace. Large Japanese 
 jar in left corner. 
 
 GLADYS MOTTRAM is sitting on the Chesterfield reading a 
 novel. She is in evening dress, a pretty, flirtatious, empty- 
 headed girl, bored with her daily life and seizing eagerly on 
 any distraction. FREDDIE MOTTRAM, her brother, is 30, 
 and conceals real kindness behind his flippant manner. He 
 doesn't go deep and he likes money, but he is on good terms 
 with the world and doesn't mind a little trouble or even un- 
 conventionality to put the world on good terms with him. He 
 is fair, with fair moustache, and his figure is that of the 
 ex-athlete who could still give a good account of himself. 
 He leans back in the arm-chair, yawning and consulting 
 his watch, glancing at GLADYS, entrenched behind her 
 book, again yawning and making up his mind to address 
 her. 
 
 FRED, (nursing a grievance). I say, Gladys, how much 
 longer do you expect me to wait ? 
 
 GLAD, (looking up from her book, calmly). Till Mr. Gar- 
 side goes. 
 
 FRED. And he hasn't come yet. Just when I particu- 
 larly want to go out, too. It's all very well for the 
 governor to be civil to him. He's got to. But I do 
 bar doing the honours myself to a horny-handed son 
 of toil. 
 
 c 33
 
 84 GARSIDE'S CAREER [n 
 
 GLAD, (putting her book beside her, face downwards. With 
 an air of resignation). You don't particularly want to go 
 out. You're only going to the Club. 
 
 FRED, (seriously). But I particularly want to go to the 
 Club. 
 
 GLAD. You go every night. 
 
 FRED. Every night isn't my lucky night. Thursday 
 is. I always win on Thursdays. The governor ought to 
 do his own dirty work. He's Mayor, not I. Cutting his 
 duty, I call it, being away to-night just when I'm bound 
 to make money. 
 
 GLAD. He'll be here when he's ready. He's going to 
 be late on purpose. 
 
 FRED. Very much on purpose. Yes. There you've 
 got it. He had Rankin and Beverley here to dinner 
 together. Quite right, too. Rankin's a Radical rotter, 
 but he's a gentleman. When it comes to Garside the 
 governor shirks and leaves it to us. Why on earth 
 he wants to ask a Labour candidate here at all simply 
 floors me. 
 
 GLAD. He has to treat them all alike. 
 
 FRED. Then he should have had Garside to dinner, 
 and given us some sport over the asparagus. 
 
 GLAD. That wasn't necessary. 
 
 FRED. And this isn't necessary. Rankin and Beverley, 
 by all means. They're probables. But why waste time 
 on an outsider like Garside ? It'll only swell his head to 
 be our guest. 
 
 GLAD. He isn't an outsider. 
 
 FRED. You don't say the governor's taking him 
 seriously. 
 
 GLAD. He's taking him very seriously. 
 
 FRED (horrified). Oh, I say. No. It's absurd. 
 
 GLAD. Garside's making headway fast. He's a fine 
 speaker, and he's popular. 
 
 FRED. A mechanic a fine speaker ! Rot ! Who says 
 so?
 
 n] GARSIDE'S CAREER 85 
 
 GLAD. I for one. I've heard him. 
 
 FRED. You have ! It's a quaint taste. 
 
 GLAD. More than once. 
 
 FRED, (sarcastically). Making a hobby of it? (Seri- 
 ously.) Where ? 
 
 GLAD. In the street. 
 
 FRED, (genuinely shocked). You've been listening to a 
 tub-thumper at street corners ? I say, hang it, Gladys, 
 there are things people don't do. 
 
 GLAD. The first time was an accident. 
 
 FRED. The second was a crime. 
 
 GLAD, (rising, and speaking enthusiastically). I went 
 again because I admired the man. I liked to hear that 
 ringing voice, to be one of that wild enthusiastic crowd 
 bewitched by the spell of his personality. He saw me 
 too. I stood at the back of the crowd, but he saw me and 
 he spoke for me . . for me. Our eyes met, and I know 
 he spoke for me alone. 
 
 FRED, (sitting and leaning back, fanning his face). Why 
 didn't you warn me ? I didn't know I was to meet my 
 future brother-in-law to-night. 
 
 GLAD. Don't be absurd, Freddie. (Sitting again.) 
 It's because he's doing so well that father asked him here, 
 and we've to keep him as long as possible. 
 
 FRED, (looking at watch). My ducats, oh, my ducats ! 
 Why? 
 
 GLAD. Because every moment that he's prevented 
 from speaking is a loss to him and a gain to us. As Mayor, 
 father's supposed to be neutral, at the election, so that 
 gives him an excuse to entertain Garside and spoil his 
 speaking for one night, anyhow. 
 
 FRED. That's a bit tricky. 
 
 GLAD. All's fair in war. 
 
 FRED. And love, Gladys, and love. 
 
 GLAD. Don't be sillier than you can help. 
 
 FRED. Besides, they'll have others to keep the ball 
 rolling while he's here.
 
 36 GARSIDE'S CAREER [n 
 
 GLAD. There's a firebrand of a woman speaking every 
 night who's about as popular as he is. 
 
 FRED, (interested). A woman ? Is she good-looking ? 
 
 GLAD. I don't know. 
 
 FRED. You wouldn't. You'd only eyes for him. 
 
 GLAD. She doesn't speak on the same platforms with 
 him. 
 
 FRED. Don't blame her, either. Only one star turn to 
 each show, eh ? 
 
 GLAD. Anyhow, father's instructions are to keep 
 Garside here till he comes home, if we can. 
 
 FRED. All right. Tell Timson to lock him up in the 
 pantry and keep him there till the election's over. 
 
 GLAD. Afraid that's too crude, Freddie. I'll do my 
 best to hold him for to-night. 
 
 FRED. Oh ? Be careful. Flirtation's a risky game 
 even when both sides know the rules. It's always apt to 
 end in marriage ; and that chap won't know the rules. 
 Much better lock him up. 
 
 GLAD. Kidnapping's out of date. 
 
 FRED. Oh, you want him to get in. He's fascinated 
 you. 
 
 GLAD, (tartly). That's doubtless why I've been canvass- 
 ing for Mr. Beverley all day, while you've been watching 
 a cricket match. 
 
 FRED. Hang it, Glad, someone's got to support 
 county cricket. I did a jolly plucky thing to-day. Wore 
 old Beverley's colours and nearly got mobbed in the bar 
 by a beastly gang of Radicals. 
 
 GLAD. You shouldn't go into bars. 
 
 FRED. And you shouldn't hang about street corners 
 with a set of Socialists. Serve you right if you'd got 
 your pocket picked. I'd rather be an open drinker than 
 a secret revolutionist any day. 
 
 [Enter LADY MOTTRAM. She is white-haired and 
 authoritative in manner, dressed in a high evening 
 gown, too freely jewelled. FREDDIE rises.
 
 n] GARSIDE'S CAREER 37 
 
 FRED. Hullo, mater. Any luck ? 
 LADY M. If you mean by that expression has Mr. 
 Garside arrived, he has not. (Crosses to Chesterfield.) 
 
 FRED, (looking at watch). Well, he may be an upright 
 youth, but punctuality isn't amongst his virtues. 
 
 LADY M. (standing by Chesterfield). It's just as well. I 
 have a disagreeable duty to perform. (Sitting, very 
 dignified.) 
 
 FRED, (lightly). Hope it'll keep fine for you. 
 LADY M. Ring the bell, Freddie. (FREDDIE 'crosses to 
 fireplace and rings.) Thank you. 
 
 FRED. By Jove, Gladys, someone's going to catch it. 
 Mark that awe-inspiring frown. I'm getting frit. 
 
 Enter TIMSON. 
 
 LADY M. Show the young person in here, Timson. 
 TIMSON. Yes, my lady. 
 
 [Exit TIMSON. FREDDIE is following with exaggerated 
 
 fear. 
 
 LADY M. Don't go, Freddie. 
 
 FRED. Oh, but I do hate thunderstorms when I've no 
 umbrella. 
 
 LADY M. I want to be certain you're here when Mr. 
 Garside comes. 
 
 FRED. Mayn't a man have a cigarette ? I'll come back. 
 (TIMSON opens door as FREDDIE comes to it. Looking off 
 FREDDIE sees MARGARET, and stops short.) By Jove, I'll 
 stay. 
 
 TIMSON (with marked disapproval). Miss Shawcross. 
 [Enter MARGARET dressed as ACT I, with the addition 
 of a light coat, without gloves. LADY M. and GLADYS 
 remain seated. FRED, stands right, well behind the 
 Chesterfield. MARGARET stands left, in some con- 
 fusion. Exit TIMSON. 
 
 MAR. You ... I understand you want to see me, 
 Lady Mottram. 
 
 LADY M. (immensely superior). Yes. Your name is 
 Shawcross ? Margaret Shawcross ?
 
 38 GARSIDE'S CAREER [n 
 
 MAR. Yes. 
 
 LADY M. Fifteen, Rosalie Street ? 
 
 MAR. Yes. 
 
 LADY M. Ah ! (With patronising kindliness.) I've 
 sent for you, Miss Shawcross, to give you a warning a 
 friendly warning. Er you may sit down. 
 
 MAR. (sitting stiffly, but not awkwardly, left). Thank 
 
 you. 
 
 LADY M. You are an assistant -teacher at the Midland- 
 ton Girls' High School ? 
 
 MAR. I am. 
 
 LADY M. You're aware that I am a member of the 
 Governing Board ? 
 
 MAR. Yes. 
 
 LADY M. (expansively). In fact, I may say I have a 
 preponderating influence. Bear that fact in mind, Miss 
 Shawcross. (MARGARET inclines her head.) We don't 
 enquire offensively into the conduct of our staff out of 
 school hours. So long as they behave themselves re- 
 spectably we are satisfied. Does your experience confirm 
 that? 
 
 MAR. Quite. 
 
 LADY M. You've suffered no inquisition into your 
 private life ? No interference into your personal affairs ? 
 
 MAR. None. 
 
 LADY M. (nodding grimly). Ah ! Then you'll do us 
 the justice to acknowledge that we don't move except in 
 extreme cases. I regret to say yours is an extreme case, 
 Miss Shawcross. 
 
 MAR. (rising). Mine ! 
 
 [FREDDIE'S attitude conveys interest plus pity, GLADYS'S 
 unrelieved contempt. 
 
 LADY M. (severely). Yours. I don't complain of your 
 holding heterodox views. It is a regrettable fact that 
 many young women of to-day hold alarmingly lax opinions. 
 But they keep their views to themselves. They confine 
 them to their own circle. It has been left to you to
 
 n] GARSIDE'S CAREER 39 
 
 proclaim publicly at street corners your loose morality, 
 
 MAR. You'll pardon me. I've done nothing of the 
 sort. 
 
 LADY M. I'm grievously misinformed if you're not a 
 self-confessed Socialist. 
 
 MAR. You spoke of loose morality. 
 
 LADY M. (curtly). Same thing. Do you admit to pub- 
 licly advocating Socialism ? 
 
 MAR. Certainly. You publicly advocate Tariff Reform. 
 Why shouldn't I advocate Socialism ? 
 
 LADY M. The cases are hardly parallel. The one is 
 respectable, the other isn't. However, you're not here to 
 argue with me. You have to earn your living. An 
 orphan, I understand. 
 
 MAR. Yes. 
 
 LADY M. You've the more reason to walk warily. 
 (Kindly.) Now, you're young, and you're ignorant, and 
 I'm ready to overlook this. I could have you dismissed 
 at once, but I've no doubt you'll be a good girl after this 
 little talk. Good night, Miss Shawcross. 
 
 MAR. Good night, Lady Mottram. (She moves towards 
 door. FREDDIE opens it, she turns back.) No, I won't go 
 like this. You'd have the right to tell me I deceived you. 
 (FREDDIE closes door and stands centre.) I can't take your 
 warning, Lady Mottram. (LADY M. rises.) I dare say 
 it's kindly meant. I thank you for that. But as for stop- 
 ping speaking, working heart and soul for the cause that's 
 all in all to me, I can't do that. 
 
 LADY M. Can't ? Won't, you mean. This is defiance, 
 Miss Shawcross. You'd better take care. 
 
 MAR. (splendidly contemptuous}. Care ! Life isn't all 
 taking care. 
 
 LADY M. (calmly). It's really very rash of you. Your 
 livelihood's at stake. I say nothing about your immortal 
 soul, which is endangered if it's not already lost. 
 
 MAR. Suppose you leave my soul out, Lady Mottram.
 
 40 GARSIDE'S CAREER [n 
 
 My employment is in your hands. You have the power 
 to take that from me. 
 
 LADY M. Persist in your defiance and I shall be com- 
 pelled to exercise that power. 
 
 FRED, (to MAR.). Speaking from long and intimate 
 acquaintance with my mother, I should just like to 
 interpolate the remark that she invariably means what she 
 says. 
 
 MAR. (coldly). Thank you. I haven't worked for Social- 
 ism without knowing the risks I took. There's nothing 
 unusual in this. Since Socialism's been the bogey of the 
 employing class, dismissal for Socialists is an everyday 
 occurrence. 
 
 LADY M. (mildly angered). This is too much. To 
 associate me with cowardly employers who abuse their 
 power, when my only object is to secure respectability in 
 our teaching staff. 
 
 MAR. Oh, they all do it for excellent motives. How 
 long have I, Lady Mottram ? 
 
 LADY M. Till Miss Allinson can replace you. 
 
 MAR. Till then I can go on contaminating my pupils ! 
 However, to replace me won't take an hour. Unemployed 
 teachers aren't scarce. 
 
 LADY M. (viciously). You are dismissed for gross mis- 
 conduct, and the fact will be stated on any reference you 
 ask for. 
 
 FRED. I say, mater, that's a bit rough. (MARGARET 
 turns to door. FREDDIE stands intercepting her.) Give the 
 girl a chance. 
 
 LADY M. Mind your own business, Freddie. 
 
 FRED. Hang it, how do you know she won't starve ? 
 
 LADY M. Her sort don't starve. 
 
 GLAD. She's wearing an engagement ring. Someone's 
 ready to keep her. 
 
 MAR. (quietly). My engagement's broken off. 
 
 LADY M. Then why do you carry a lie on your 
 finger ?
 
 n) GARSIDE'S CAREER 41 
 
 MAR. I hadn't the courage to take it off till now. 
 (Putting ring in coat-pocket.) 
 
 FRED. You're in a bit of a hole, you know. 
 
 LADY M. Gladys, if Freddie's going to be sympathetic 
 to this young person, you and I had better retire. Con- 
 versations between young men and persons of her class 
 are not carried on in the presence of ladies. 
 
 [LADY M. and GLADYS go out, FREDDIE opening door. 
 MARGARET is following. He closes the door. 
 
 FRED. One moment, Miss Shawcross. 
 
 MAR. Let me go, please. 
 
 FRED. Yes. I say. I know I'm being assinine. I am 
 rather an ass. But I'm a genial sort of ass, and if there's 
 one thing I can't stand it's one woman being beastly to 
 another. Women are the limit. (Rapidly, as MARGARET 
 shows impatience.) What I mean is, can I do anything 
 for you ? 
 
 MAR. (curtly). No, thank you, Mr. Mottram. (Trying 
 to pass him.) 
 
 FRED, (with a stronger note of seriousness). No, you're 
 not going till I let you. The mater's made it hard enough. 
 That's the worst of women. They won't be sportsmen. 
 Mind you, I'm not blaming her. Swop positions and you'd 
 do it yourself. But you've lost your job. That's an 
 idiotic thing to do now. As if any footling politics were 
 worth a tinker's cuss ! 
 
 MAR. Why are you keeping me here ? 
 
 FRED. I'm telling you, aren't I ? 
 
 MAR. It wasn't very lucid. 
 
 FRED. What are you going to do for a living ? 
 
 MAR. That isn't your business, Mr. Mottram. 
 
 FRED, (seriously). Look here, I'm not a woman eater. 
 I'm a cheerful soul, and I hate to see people in distress. 
 The mater's got you down. Foul blow, too. Hitting 
 below the belt, to sack you without a character. What 
 are you going to do about it, Miss Shawcross ? 
 
 MAR. I don't know yet.
 
 42 GARSIDE'S CAREER [n 
 
 FRED. Let me talk to some Johnnie at the Club, and 
 make him- take you into his office. 
 
 MAR. Why should you ? And do you think anybody 
 will have me without a character ? 
 
 FRED. I'll fix that all right. Only it'll be an office. 
 
 MAR. I can typewrite. 
 
 FRED. By Jove ! What a brainy chap you are. 
 
 MAR. I don't know why you're doing this, but I'll 
 work my fingers to the bone if you can get me work where 
 they'll not mind my principles. 
 
 FRED. You can be a Particular Baptist, or a Neo- 
 Confucian for all this Johnnie 'ull care. 
 
 MAR. Are you sure he's the same man in his office as 
 in his Club ? 
 
 FRED. Oh, don't wet blanket me. I'm only trying. 
 
 MAR. I'm sorry, Mr. Mottram. Your friend will find 
 me a hard worker. 
 
 FRED. I say, you won't overdo that part of it, will 
 you? 
 
 MAR. What part ? 
 
 FRED. The working. Bad form to make the pace 
 hotter than the regular rate. 
 
 MAR. I thought offices were places for hard work. 
 
 FRED. I dare say you're right. I expect that's why 
 the office men I know spend so much time at the Club, 
 out of work's way. 
 
 MAR. Mr. Mottram, why are you doing this ? 
 
 FRED. Oh, I'm a starved creature. Being good keeps 
 me warm. 
 
 Enter TIMSON. 
 
 TIMSON. Mr. Garside. 
 
 [PETER enters. He has gained considerably in self- 
 confidence, and enters rather defiantly. Exit TIMSON. 
 
 FRED, (stepping forward). Good evening, Mr. Garside. 
 
 PETER (seeing MARGARET, and seeing red. Ignoring 
 FRED.). You here ! 
 
 MAR. Lady Mottram sent for me.
 
 n] GARSIDE'S CAREER 43 
 
 PETER. It's a very suspicious circumstance. I find 
 you here in the enemy's camp, looking confused, guilty. 
 You'd better explain yourself. 
 
 FRED, (offering hand again, emphatically). Good even- 
 ing, Mr. Garside. Why's it the enemy's camp, when 
 mayors are neutral at elections ? 
 
 PETER (carelessly, just touching his hand). Oh, good 
 evening. Sir Jasper is officially neutral, sir. But he is 
 actually chairman of the Employers' Federation, and, 
 as such, our bitterest enemy. 
 
 FRED. By the way, you're here yourself, you know. 
 
 PETER. I am paying an official visit to the Mayor. 
 It's different with this lady. She works for me ostenta- 
 tiously. She's supposed to be addressing a meeting for 
 me at this moment. Instead, I find her here, playing the 
 traitor and betraying me to my political enemies. 
 
 FRED. I always thought it wanted a lot of imagination 
 to be a politician. Does yours often bolt like this ? 
 
 PETER. That's not very convincing. (Brushing him 
 aside,) Excuse me, Mr. Mottram. I must get to the 
 bottom of this. (To MARGARET.) What have you to say 
 for yourself ? 
 
 MAR. Nothing. 
 
 FRED. Quite right, too. Some things are too silly to 
 reply to. 
 
 PETER. Then I shall draw my own conclusions. 
 
 [PETER is left, FREDDIE centre, and MARGARET right. 
 
 FRED. I'd advise you to draw 'em mild. (Turning 
 to MARGARET.) This isn't your lucky night, Miss Shaw- 
 cross. 
 
 MAR. It doesn't matter, Mr. Mottram. 
 
 FRED. Yes, it does. If you won't tell Mr. Garside 
 why you're here, I will. 
 
 MAR. (appealingly). Please don't. (Proudly.) My 
 personal affairs are no concern of Mr. Garside's. 
 
 PETER. And meantime let me tell you, sir, that your 
 ardour to defend the lady only makes bad worse.
 
 44 GARSIDE'S CAREER [n 
 
 FRED. Good Lord ! I always said politicians were 
 people who hadn't the brains to be frivolous, but I never 
 
 knew they were quite so stupid. Why, man 
 
 [Enter LADY MOTTEAM and GLADYS. FRED stops 
 abruptly. 
 
 LADY M. (sweetly). So pleased you've come, Mr. Gar- 
 side. 
 
 PETER (quite sure of himself). Good evening, Lady 
 Mottram. 
 
 LADY M. Mr. Garside, my daughter. (GLADYS meets 
 PETER'S eyes and bows ; he starts perceptibly.) So sorry 
 Sir Jasper isn't here to welcome you, but I hope my son's 
 made you feel quite at home. 
 
 FRED. We've talked like brothers. 
 
 LADY M. (realising MARGARET'S presence). Miss Shaw- 
 cross, I think I told you you could go. Will you ring, 
 Freddie ? 
 
 FRED. I'll see Miss Shawcross out. 
 
 [LADY MOTTRAM shrugs, and turns virtuously away. 
 FRED, opens door, and MARGARET moves to it. 
 
 PETER (as she goes past). Wliere are you going ? 
 
 MAR. I'm going to speak. I'm advertised to speak. 
 
 PETER. For me ? 
 
 MAR. (frigidly). No, Socialism. 
 
 LADY M. (turning). Then you will take the conse- 
 quences. 
 
 MAR. (quietly). Oh, yes. I'll take the consequences. 
 [Exeunt MARGARET and FREDDIE. 
 
 LADY M. (sitting on Chesterfield and motioning PETER 
 to sit by her. GLADYS sits opposite). Young men are so 
 susceptible to a pretty face. Don't you think so, Mr. 
 Garside ? (Quickly.) Oh, but of course you are serious- 
 minded. 
 
 PETER (glancing at GLADYS). I'm not beauty-proof, 
 Lady Mottram. 
 
 LADY M. Ah, but real beauty is so rare. 
 
 PETER. That's why it haunts me.
 
 n] GARSIDE'S CAREER 45 
 
 LADY M. Is there a case in point ? 
 
 PETER. Yes. 
 
 LADY M. (insincerely). How romantic ! Do tell us 
 about it, Mr. Garside. 
 
 PETER (eyeing GLADYS). Shall I ? 
 
 GLAD. Do please. 
 
 PETER. It is romantic, Lady Mottram. I didn't think 
 such beauty could be earthly. It came upon me just as 
 I stood speaking at a street corner one night, a face on 
 the outskirts of my audience. I was tired and it gave me 
 strength. My voice was failing, but it rang out fresh 
 again to reach those ears. I've seen it many times since 
 then, that angel's face with a halo, always at the fringe 
 of the crowd, always an inspiration, eyes that yearned to 
 mine across the sea of caps and drew my very soul into 
 my words. I thought it was a dream. Could the same 
 clay that moulded me be shaped to this vision ? Until 
 to-night I didn't know such women could exist. 
 
 LADY M. (trying to appear interested). It's a woman, 
 then. 
 
 PETER. Woman or goddess, she's alive. Yes. 
 
 LADY M. She'd be flattered if she heard you now. 
 
 PETER. I'm not flattering her. 
 
 Re-enter FREDDIE. 
 
 FRED. I've seen her off the premises. 
 
 LADY M. Don't interrupt. Mr. Garside's telling us 
 about a woman with a wonderful face who's been in- 
 spiring his speeches. 
 
 FRED, (sitting R.C.). Oh, yes ? A face that launched 
 a thousand speeches ? Bit of a responsibility for any 
 face. 
 
 LADY M. And who is she, Mr. Garside ? 
 
 PETER. I didn't know. 
 
 GLAD. What a pity. She'll never know what she's 
 been to you. 
 
 PETER. I think she knows now, Miss Mottram. 
 
 FRED. Fair Unknown inspires your speeches, your
 
 46 GARSIDE'S CAREER [n 
 
 speeches inspire electors, electors elect you, and it'll be 
 Garside, M.P., when it ought to be Fair Unknown, M.P. 
 
 PETER. Only the electors haven't elected me yet. 
 
 FRED. I hear they're going to. 
 
 PETER (confidently). It's highly probable. 
 
 LADY M. Do you know London, Mr. Garside ? 
 
 PETER. No, but I hope to shortly. 
 
 FRED. You must let me show you round. You'll feel 
 strange at first. 
 
 PETER. I'm not afraid of London. If it's a case of 
 London conquering me or me conquering London I know 
 which will win. 
 
 FRED. Going to be one of our conquerors, eh ? 
 
 PETER. I mean to try. I've got ambitions. 
 
 FRED. Thank God, I haven't. A cosy club and a decent 
 cigar are good enough for me. Please count me con- 
 quered in advance. (Lolling easily in chair.) 
 
 LADY M. But has a Labour member such opportunities 
 of er conquering London, Mr. Garside ? 
 
 PETER. If he puts them to the right use. Yes there's 
 money in it. 
 
 FRED, (sitting up, interested). Money ? I'll be a Labour 
 member. I like money. 
 
 PETER. I don't say it's been done up to now. I'm 
 going to do it, though. 
 
 FRED. What's the recipe ? 
 
 PETER. Oh, you begin by journalism and lecture 
 engagements. 
 
 FRED. And that's the royal road to wealth ? Mother, 
 why wasn't I brought up to be a Labour member ! This 
 solves the problem of what shall we do with our sons. 
 Only it's too like work for me. 
 
 GLAD. Freddie, don't chaff Mr. Garside. He isn't one 
 of your frivolous Club companions. 
 
 PETER. Oh, I haven't been through the half of an 
 election campaign without toughening my epidermis, 
 Miss Mottram. I'm not afraid of ridicule.
 
 n] GARSIDE'S CAREER 47 
 
 FRED. You'll go far, Mr. Garside. The secret of 
 success is to have no sense of humour. 
 
 GLAD. A lot you know about success. 
 
 FRED. I know everything. I'm not successful and out- 
 siders watch the game. 
 
 LADY M. Children ! Children ! 
 
 PETER. Oh, don't apologise, Lady Mottram. I know 
 what family life is in upper-class households. I've read 
 my Shaw. 
 
 To their relief TIMSON enters. 
 
 LADY M. What is it, Timson ? 
 
 TIMSON. Sir Jasper is asking for you on the tele- 
 phone. 
 
 LADY M. Excuse me, Mr. Garside. (Rising.) 
 
 TIMSON T . And there's a man called for you, sir. (To 
 PETER.) 
 
 PETER. For me ? 
 
 GLAD. You go, Freddie. Tell him Mr. Garside wants 
 to be left alone. 
 
 FRED, (nodding with understanding to GLADYS). All 
 right. I'll deal with him. Don't disturb yourself, Mr. 
 Garside. 
 
 [LADY MOTTRAM goes out first, FRED, follows quickly 
 to give PETER no chance to reply. Exit TIMSON. 
 
 PETER. I ought to go, Miss Mottram. I've meetings 
 to address. 
 
 GLAD. Oh, but you mustn't disappoint Sir Jasper. 
 He'll be in soon. 
 
 PETER. My time's precious. 
 
 GLAD. So are you (hastily) to your party, I mean. 
 You'll break down if you overdo things. 
 
 PETER (consulting watch). My conscience isn't easy. 
 
 GLAD, (coldly). Oh, don't let me detain you against 
 your will. 
 
 PETER. It's not against my will, only 
 
 GLAD. Then won't you sit down ? 
 
 PETER (deciding to stay, and sitting on Chesterfield).
 
 48 GARSIDE'S CAREER [n 
 
 Thank you. (Stiffly.) Some day I hope to have the 
 pleasure of asking you to sit in a room of mine like this 
 one. 
 
 GLAD. You aim high, Mr. Garside. 
 
 PETER. I mean to succeed. I feel I'm one of the 
 men who do succeed. (He doesn't boast, he states a 
 conviction.) 
 
 GLAD, (insincerely). I'm sure you are. 
 
 PETER (ardently). If you're sure, there's no doubt about 
 it. I'm going to rise, Miss Mottram. I shall win fame, 
 
 fortune Everything the heart of woman can desire 
 
 will be mine to fling at the feet of my . . . my inspiration 
 of the Midlandton election. 
 
 GLAD. Ah. Your mysterious vision ! 
 
 PETER (leaning forward). Is she a mystery to you ? I 
 thought you knew. 
 
 GLAD. Knew what ? 
 
 PETER. You see that inspiration every morning in your 
 looking-glass. 
 
 GLAD, (rising). Mr. Garside ! 
 
 PETER. I thought you understood. (He rises.) 
 
 GLAD. I understand you're being impertinent. 
 
 PETER (confidently). That's because you're thinking of 
 my past. Peter Garside, the Board School boy, the 
 working engineer with a home in a back street a great 
 gulf yawned between that Garside of the past and the 
 daughter of Sir Jasper Mottram, four times Mayor of 
 Midlandton. The gulf is narrower to-day. In a year or 
 two it won't exist. I'm not impertinent, Miss Mottram. 
 I'm being bold enough to look into the future . . . the 
 future you've inspired. 
 
 GLAD. I ought to scold you, Mr. Garside. 
 
 PETER. Why ? 
 
 GLAD, (lightly). You appropriated me as your inspira- 
 tion without leave. 
 
 PETER. Didn't my eyes tell you across the crowd ? 
 
 GLAD. Your eyes ?
 
 n] GARSIDE'S CAREER 49 
 
 PETER (emphatically). Yes, mine spoke and yours 
 answered mine, not once but half a dozen times. 
 
 GLAD, (freezing). I'm afraid you're subject to delusions, 
 Mr. Garside. 
 
 PETER. You're afraid to tell the truth. 
 
 GLAD, (fencing). Truth's so miscellaneous, don't you 
 think ? It's a diamond with many facets. 
 
 PETER. I'm not here to bandy epigrams. Truth is 
 truth. You're afraid to own by mouth the truth you told 
 me with your eyes. 
 
 GLAD. Don't you think you overrate the communica- 
 tive capacity of eyes ? 
 
 PETER. I think you're playing with me now. I know 
 you didn't play then. We had reality there in the street. 
 I'll make you tell me yet you meant the things your eyes 
 spoke to me. 
 
 GLAD. Make ! This is strange language for a drawing- 
 room, sir. 
 
 PETER. I'm not talking to the drawing-room miss. 
 She's a stranger to me. I'm talking to the real woman, 
 the woman I knew outside there, stripped of the veil of 
 lies you try to hide behind. 
 
 GLAD. But you don't know me. I never met you till 
 to-night. 
 
 PETER. I didn't know your name until to-night. 
 What do names matter ? Your eyes had blazed into my 
 soul. 
 
 [The door opens violently, and JONES, wearing his hat, 
 bursts in followed by FREDDIE, who is mildly pro- 
 testant. PETER and GLADYS rise. 
 
 JONES (crossing to centre). What's the meaning of this, 
 Garside ? 
 
 FRED, (following and tapping him on the back). I say, 
 don't you even take your hat off in a lady's presence ? 
 
 JONES (growlingly). Ugh ! (But he takes his hat off.) 
 
 PETER. How dare you force your way in here ? 
 
 JONES. I may well come. You're wanted outside.
 
 50 GARSIDE'S CAREER [n 
 
 Meetings shouting themselves hoarse for you. Chances 
 passing while you loll here in plutocratic luxury, idling 
 in the gilded chambers of our enemies. Faugh ! (Kicking 
 chair violently centre. FREDDIE picks up the cushion from 
 it and offers it.) 
 
 FRED. That's rather an expensive chair. Take it out 
 of this if you must kick something. 
 
 PETER. I am paying an official call authorised by my 
 Committee on Sir Jasper Mottram. 
 
 JONES. I don't see Sir Jasper. 
 
 FRED. I told this Johnnie you were busy. Tried to 
 soothe the beggar, but he broke away. 
 
 JONES (to PETER). Well, you'd better come at once. 
 [PETER wavers visibly when GLADYS interposes. 
 
 GLAD. Mr. Garside is our guest. 
 
 JONES (more roughly still). Come away. 
 
 PETER (his mind made up). I shall do nothing of the 
 sort. 
 
 JONES. Don't you understand ? It's imperative. 
 They're calling for you. We've done our best, mark- 
 ing time, promising them every minute you'd come 
 and you don't come. It's serious. They're impatient. 
 They don't want us others. They want you (sarcasti- 
 cally) silver-tongued Garside. We can't hold them 
 much longer. There'll be a riot if you don't turn up. 
 
 PETER (lightly). Oh, I'll come soon. Let them wait. 
 
 JONES. They won't wait. 
 
 PETER. They'll have to. 
 
 JONES (imperatively). You're coming now with me. 
 
 PETER. No. I'll follow you. (Reassuringly.) It's all 
 right, man. I shan't be long. 
 
 JONES. I'll report you to the Committee if you don't 
 come at once. 
 
 PETER. You can report me to the devil. Get along 
 now, that's a good chap. I'm busy. 
 
 JONES (very earnestly). Garside, I warn you. You know 
 what a crowd's like when it gets out of hand.
 
 n] GARSIDE'S CAREER 51 
 
 PETER. I tell you I'm coming. The longer you stay 
 the longer it'll be before I get there. 
 
 JONES (making his best effort and meaning it). If you 
 don't come with me you'll have no need to get there. I 
 shall bring them here to you. 
 
 FRED. Oh, but you can't do that you know. 
 
 JONES. Can't I ? You tell him to come or I'll show 
 you if I can't. 
 
 PETER (impatiently). In a minute. 
 
 JONES (inexorably). Now ! 
 
 PETER. No. 
 
 JONES (turning abruptly). Very well, then. 
 
 [Exit JONES, slamming door. FRED, opens it after a 
 moment. 
 
 FRED. I don't think the furniture's safe until he's 
 out of the house. 
 
 [Exit FREDDIE. 
 
 GLAD, (excited and utterly sincere). It must be glorious 
 to be wanted like that, Mr. Garside. Isn't it risky to deny 
 them when they call for you ? 
 
 PETER. I can do what I like with them. 
 
 GLAD. Why didn't you go ? 
 
 PETER. You know why not. 
 
 GLAD, (sitting on Chesterfield). Do I ? 
 
 PETER (standing centre). Every night I can make my- 
 self the master of a mob. It's no new joy to me to 
 feel I've got them there in the hollow of my hand. I 
 can't speak with you every night. That's why I didn't 
 
 g- 
 
 GLAD. But is it wise ? 
 
 PETER. Wise ? 
 
 GLAD. You mustn't spoil your chances, Mr. Garside. 
 
 PETER. I won't spoil my chances of speaking with 
 you. 
 
 GLAD. But if the crowd makes a disturbance ? That 
 man's malicious. He'll stir them up to mischief. 
 
 PETER. I can calm them with a word.
 
 52 GARSIDE'S CAREER [n 
 
 GLAD. What confidence you have ! 
 
 PETER. Yes. In the power you give me. 
 
 GLAD. You don't let me shuffle off responsibility. 
 
 PETER. You wouldn't want to if you could forget that 
 you're Miss Mottram and I'm a working man. 
 
 [Low murmurs as of a distant crowd off, approaching 
 and growing louder as the scene proceeds. GLADYS 
 catches it at once, and is alarmed. PETER, if he hears 
 at all, is inattentive. 
 
 GLAD. I really think you'd better go to them, Mr. 
 Garside, before that man leads them here. 
 
 PETER. Not long ago you were urging me to stay to 
 wait for Sir Jasper. 
 
 GLAD. Sir Jasper will be late. 
 
 PETER. You said he'd be here soon. 
 
 GLAD, (rising, exasperated). Mr. Garside, will you 
 go? 
 
 PETER (shaking his head). You haven't told me what 
 I want to know. 
 
 GLAD. What is it ? I'll tell you anything if you'll only 
 go go. 
 
 PETER (calmly). Did I read the meaning in your eyes 
 aright ? (A slight pause.) Did I ? 
 
 GLAD, (nervously glancing towards window). I don't 
 know what you mean. 
 
 PETER. You do know. You won't tell me. 
 
 GLAD. I can't. 
 
 PETER (sitting centre). Then I'll stay here till you 
 do. 
 
 GLAD. And hold me responsible if your ragamuffins 
 wreck the house. 
 
 PETER. You've only to speak, and I'll see they don't 
 come near. 
 
 [A moment's silence, then FREDDIE enters briskly. 
 
 FRED. I say, Mr. Garside, I'm afraid we must turn you 
 out. 
 
 PETER (still sitting). Oh, how's that ?
 
 n] GARSIDE'S CAREER 53 
 
 FRED. Your friend went off in no end of a rage. Said 
 he'd bring your meeting here. Mohammed and the 
 Mountain, don't you know ? I really think you'd better 
 go. We don't want to read the Riot Act. 
 
 [GLADYS is at the window, peeping through blind. 
 
 PETER. The matter's out of my hands, Mr. Mottram. 
 
 FRED. Why ? Surely you can head them off. 
 
 PETER. Easily. 
 
 FRED, (irritated). Well, I wish you'd go and do it. 
 
 GLAD, (at window). They're there. There's a crowd 
 coming round the corner now. 
 
 FRED. You'll have to look lively. Come on, man. 
 (Trying to make him move.) 
 
 PETER (to GLADYS, who is standing left). Well, Miss 
 Mottram ? 
 
 FRED, (impatiently). Oh, never mind her. Get along 
 sharp. (He opens door.) 
 
 PETER. I'm ready when Miss Mottram gives the word. 
 I shall know what she means if she says " Yes." 
 
 GLAD. I can't. 
 
 PETER (sitting in chair). Then I stay here. 
 
 [Shouts below are heard : " Gar side ! " " We want 
 Gar side! " " Where's that silver-tongue ? " 
 
 FRED. Look here, this is getting beyond a joke. 
 
 PETER. I'm only waiting for the word of command. 
 
 FRED. Gladys, for God's sake say what he wants ! 
 
 GLAD. No. 
 
 [Shouts more fiercely. 
 
 FRED, (helplessly irritable). Where the devil are the 
 police ? 
 
 [LADY MOTTRAM rushes in hysterically. 
 
 LADY M. Mr. Garside, save us. Speak to them before 
 they get violent. 
 
 PETER (coolly). They're doing the speaking. (LADY 
 M. cries out inarticulately.) I'm waiting for Miss 
 Mottram. 
 
 LADY M. For Gladys ? (Top pane of tfie window is
 
 54 GARSIDE'S CAREER [n 
 
 broken by a stone which falls between blind and window. 
 Almost shrieking.) What's that ? 
 
 PETER. The voice of the people. 
 
 FRED. They've a nasty way of talking. This looks 
 serious. (Crosses, picks up and quickly pockets the stone, 
 which is a large one.) 
 
 LADY M. Is it a big one ? 
 
 FRED, (nonchalantly). Size of a piece of wood. 
 
 GLAD. Very well, then. Yes. 
 
 PETER (rising briskly). That's what I wanted. (Crosses 
 as if to open door, comes round to window, runs blind up, 
 and steps out to balcony.) 
 
 GLAD, (as he is at window}. I didn't mean it. 
 
 PETER. You said it. (He goes out, speaking as if to a 
 crowd below.) Comrades, I'm here. (Cheers off.) From 
 the house of our Mayor, on whom I am calling as the 
 
 people's candidate at this election 
 
 [FRED, crosses and closes window. Faint murmur only 
 is audible off. 
 
 FRED. I can't stand this. He's spouting Socialism 
 from our balcony. (Angrily.) This is your fault, Gladys. 
 
 GLAD. I was told to keep him here. 
 
 [LADY MOTTRAM has collapsed on the Chesterfield. 
 
 FRED. Not with a mob howling for him outside. 
 
 GLAD. I didn't bring the mob. 
 
 LADY M. What will Sir Jasper say ? 
 
 FRED, (recovering his temper). He'll not be fit to listen 
 to. We're the laughing-stock of Midlandton. This 'ull 
 win Garside the election. He's using the balcony of the 
 Chairman of the Employers' Federation for his platform, 
 and we've let him do it. 
 
 GLAD. We tried to trick him and he's turned the tables 
 on us. That's all. 
 
 FRED. Clever beast. (Laughter off.) 
 
 LADY M. Listen to the cheering ! 
 
 FRED. Oh, he's popular, only that's not cheering. It's 
 laughter.
 
 n] GARSIDE'S CAREER 55 
 
 LADY M. What are they laughing at ? 
 FRED. At us, ma petite mere, at us. 
 LADY M. (standing, with extreme dignity). They wouldn't 
 dare ! 
 
 [Loud burst of laughter. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT III 
 
 PETER'S rooms in the Temple. Door extreme right centre, 
 with the passage beyond visible with telephone on its wall 
 when the door is open. Door left. Fireplace centre, with 
 low fire shining dully in the darkened room. Bookcase right. 
 Below it, table with inkstand. Blue books, etc., and revolving 
 chair. Arm-chairs, left and right of fireplace. Sofa left, 
 between fireplace and door. Heavy carpet. The zvhole 
 appointments indicate comfort and taste, as understood in 
 Tottenham Court Road : there is nothing individual about 
 tJiem. 
 
 As the curtain rises the room is in darkness, except for 
 the glow from the fire, and the telephone bell right is ringing. 
 After a moment's pause the outside door opens ; then PETER 
 in a lounge suit, overcoat, and bowler hat opens the door right 
 and turns on the electric light. He speaks as he looks off 
 right. His self-confidence has increased. He is, in fact, 
 coarsened and even brazen at times. 
 
 PETER. Come in here. (FREDDIE and GLADYS follow 
 him in. PETER stands by door.) Make yourselves at home 
 for two minutes. That's my telephone ringing like mad. 
 [Exit PETER hurriedly, closing the door. Bell ceases 
 ringing. GLADYS is in winter costume with furs. 
 FREDDIE, in heavy overcoat with hat in hand and a 
 cane which he swings as he stands centre, surveying 
 the room in astonishment. 
 FRED. By Jove ! By Jove ! 
 GLAD, (standing off). What's the matter ? 
 FRED. Does himself all right. 
 GLAD. What did you expect ? 
 
 56
 
 m] GARSIDE'S CAREER 57 
 
 FRED. I didn't expect this. 
 
 GLAD. Was that why you didn't want to come in ? 
 
 FRED. I didn't want to come because I've to meet 
 Charlie Beversham at the hotel in half an hour. 
 
 GLAD. Well, you can meet him. 
 
 FRED. Not if we stay here long. 
 
 GLAD. You needn't stay here. 
 
 FRED. Oh ? And what about you ? 
 
 GLAD. I'll stay. 
 
 FRED. Hang it, you can't do that. 
 
 GLAD.. No. You'd rather I wasted another evening 
 sitting with the frumps in the hotel drawing-room while 
 you discuss odds with your sporting friend in the bar 
 till it's too late to go anywhere. I'm having no more nights 
 in a refrigerator, thank you. 
 
 FRED. It's not the thing to leave you here. You'll 
 only be in Garside's way. He'll be going to the House. 
 
 GLAD. Then he'll leave me at the hotel as he goes. 
 
 FRED. You know the mater only let you loose in 
 London because I promised to look after you. (Good- 
 naturedly perplexed.) You're a ghastly responsibility. 
 Why on earth do you want to stay with Garside ? 
 
 GLAD. Garside's amusing and the hotel isn't. 
 
 FRED. I simply must see Beversham. It means money 
 to me. 
 
 GLAD. Don't let me stand in your way. 
 
 FRED, (giving way}. Well, I do like to be generous. 
 It's the only thing that keeps my blood at normal tem- 
 perature 
 
 PETER (off right, at telephone). I shall shout. You may 
 be the whip, but you'll not whip me. Important division ? 
 I know that as well as you do. No, I shan't be there. 
 Promised ? Of course I promised. I started to come. 
 How did I know I was going to be indisposed in the 
 Strand ? 
 
 FRED, (whistling). Whew ! I wouldn't mind betting 
 you're the indisposition, Gladys.
 
 58 GARSIDE'S CAREER [in 
 
 PETER (off). Yes. I'm far too ill to turn out. What ? 
 No, I'm not too ill to shout. Good night. (Opens door 
 and enters without his hat and overcoat.) Oh, do sit down, 
 Miss Mottram. So sorry I'd to leave you. (Pulls left arm- 
 chair before fire and pokes it.) I'll make the fire up. It's a 
 cold night. (GLADYS sits.) 
 
 FRED. Comfortable enough in here, Garside. You've 
 snug quarters. 
 
 PETER (failing to conceal his pride in his room). It's a 
 beginning. (Rising from fire.) One moment. (Goes off 
 left quickly, and is heard as he exits, saying :) Mother, you 
 let that fire go low. 
 
 MRS. G. (off left). I thought you'd gone out. 
 
 FRED. Oh, if he's got a mother on the premises that 
 alters the case. I don't mind your staying now. 
 
 [PETER re-enters with MRS. GARSIDE in a neat black 
 dress, spectacles on, and a " Daily Telegraph " in her 
 hand. MRS. GARSIDE, though sharing PETER'S 
 prosperity, has now an habitually worried look and is 
 vaguely pathetic. She enters embarrassed. 
 
 PETER (off-handedly, treating his mother without cere- 
 mony). Mr. Mottram, Miss Mottram my mother. 
 
 [FREDDIE bows. GLADYS advances and takes hands. 
 
 GLAD. How do you do, Mrs. Garside ? 
 
 MRS. G. Nicely, thank you, miss. 
 
 PETER (peremptorily). Why didn't you hear the tele- 
 phone, mother ? Were you asleep ? 
 
 MRS. G. (meekly). Did it ring ? I was reading the report 
 of your speech at Battersea last night. 
 
 PETER (interested). Oh ! Where is it ? I haven't had 
 time to look at a paper to-day. 
 
 MRS. G. (handing him the paper and pointing). There, 
 dear. 
 
 PETER (looking and speaking with satisfaction). Two 
 columns. Good. That's pretty near verbatim. 
 
 FRED. Two columns in the " Telegraph " ? You're 
 getting on, Garside.
 
 in] GARSIDE'S CAREER 59 
 
 MRS. G. (handing the paper from PETER to FRED.). And 
 look at the headings ! 
 
 FRED, (looking awkwardly). Er yes not very com- 
 plimentary. 
 
 GLAD, (curiously). What are they ? 
 
 FRED, (returning paper to PETER). Tact never was my 
 sister's strong point, Garside. 
 
 PETER (holding up the paper). Oh, I don't mind this 
 in the least. It means my blows are getting home. 
 (Reading the headings.) " The Demagogue again." 
 " More Firebrand Oratory from the egregious Garside." 
 (Putting paper on table.) Spreading themselves, aren't 
 they? 
 
 FRED. Well, it's all right, so long as you don't mind. 
 
 PETER. Oh, they'll need a big vocabulary to express 
 their feelings before I'm done with them. I haven't 
 started yet. 
 
 FRED. Hope it'll keep fine for you. Afraid I must 
 toddle, Garside. I've an appointment. 
 
 PETER (his face falling in deep disappointment). Ap- 
 pointment ! Oh, I did hope you'd both stay a bit. In 
 fact, I I put off an engagement while I was at the 
 telephone. 
 
 FRED, (looking at GLADYS). Well er I might come 
 back for my sister. 
 
 PETER (enthusiastically). Splendid ! Have something 
 before you go ? 
 
 FRED, (surprised). Eh ? 
 
 PETER (taking his arm). Just to keep the cold out. 
 Next room. 
 
 FRED, (turning with him). I'd an idea you were a tee- 
 totaller. 
 
 PETER. I was a lot of things in Midlandton. In London 
 I'm a man of the world. 
 
 [Exeunt FREDDIE and PETER, L. 
 
 GLAD, (sitting on sofa). You must find London a great 
 change after Midlandton, Mrs. Garside.
 
 60 GARSIDE'S CAREER [m 
 
 MRS. G. (sitting in left arm-chair, facing her confiden- 
 tially). I haven't had an easy hour since Peter brought 
 me. You wouldn't believe the prices they charge me in the 
 shops if I want a chop or a bit of steak for Peter's tea. 
 Dinner he calls it now, though how it can be dinner at 
 seven of an evening I don't know. Thieves, that's what 
 they are. Not shopkeepers. You mustn't mind me 
 running on, I haven't a soul I know to talk to here. It's 
 a pleasure to see you, I'm sure. And the streets ! I'm 
 feared for my life if I go out. I know I'll be knocked 
 down and brought home dead. Eh, London's an awful 
 place, but it's Peter's home now, and his home's mine. 
 
 GLAD. But you'll get used to it. 
 
 MRS. G. I doubt I'll never get used to this. I'm too 
 old to change, and Peter moves so fast. What's fit for 
 him one day isn't good enough the next. The waste's 
 enough to frighten you. 
 
 GLAD. You must be very proud of your son, Mrs. 
 Garside. 
 
 MRS. G. (with conviction, dropping her querulous tone). 
 He's something to be proud of. I'm the mother of a great 
 man. You can't open a newspaper without you see his 
 name. 
 
 GLAD. I know that. 
 
 MRS. G. You've seen it ? 
 
 GLAD. Often. 
 
 MRS. G. (rising and coming to table). But not all. I've 
 got them all here. I cut them out, reports of his speeches, 
 and paste them in this book. (Crosses to sofa with press- 
 cutting book and sits by GLADYS.) 
 
 GLAD. His speeches in Parliament ? 
 
 MRS. G. (with fine scorn). Peter doesn't waste his words 
 on Parliament. He goes direct to the people addressing 
 meetings up and down the country. (Glowing with pride.) 
 They fight to get him. Pity is he can't split himself in 
 bits and be in six places at once. Two guineas a speech he 
 gets and expenses, more sometimes. That's what they
 
 m] GARSIDE'S CAREER 61 
 
 think of him, Miss Mottram. That's my son. (Pointing 
 to a heading in the book.) Silver-tongued Garside. That's 
 what they call him. 
 
 GLAD. Yes, I see. (She turns a page.) 
 
 MRS. G. (looking, bending round GLADYS). Oh, no, not 
 that. I oughtn't to have pasted that in. It's an attack 
 on him in one of our own papers. They call him something 
 he didn't like. 
 
 GLAD, (reading). Platitudinous Peter. 
 
 MRS. G. It's all their spite. 
 
 GLAD. I suppose all politicians make enemies. 
 
 MRS. G. Oh, he's not afraid of his real enemies. The 
 capitalists can call him what they like. They do, too, 
 and the more the better, Peter says. But that's different. 
 Mean things, attacking their own side. 
 
 GLAD, (absently). Yes. (Putting book down.) And this 
 is where he prepares his speeches. (Crossing to table.) 
 
 MRS. G. (rising with book and crossing, replacing it on 
 table). Yes. Those are his books. 
 
 [GLADYS looks at titles. 
 
 GLAD. Why, this row's all dictionaries. 
 
 MRS. G. Peter says people like long words. He writes 
 his article at that desk. Peter's printed in the paper every 
 week. 
 
 GLAD. He's kept busy. 
 
 MRS. G. And he keeps me busy looking after him. 
 
 GLAD, (sitting in the revolving chair and facing MRS. 
 GARSIDE, standing centre). Have you no help ? 
 
 MRS. G. Me ? Nay. I couldn't abide the thought of a 
 strange woman doing 'owt for Peter. I've cared for him 
 all his life, and I'll go on caring for him until he's put 
 another woman in my place. Peter's wife won't be of 
 my class. It'll be my duty then to keep myself out of her 
 sight, and a hard job I'll find it, too, but I was never one 
 to shirk. 
 
 GLAD. Didn't I hear something about a girl in Midland- 
 ton, who
 
 62 GARSIDE'S CAREER [m 
 
 MRS. G. (with conviction). Don't you believe it, miss. 
 She wasn't fit to clean his boots. 
 
 GLAD. And of course he's all London to choose from 
 now. 
 
 MRS. G. London ! He'll never wed a Londoner. 
 
 GLAD. No? 
 
 MRS. G. He's in love with a Midlandton young 
 lady. Calls her his inspiration and I don't know 
 what. But I tell you this, miss, I don't care who 
 she is, she'll be doing well for herself when she marries 
 my Peter. 
 
 GLAD. You think she will marry him, then ? 
 
 MRS. G. I'd like to see the woman who'd refuse him 
 when he asks her. 
 
 [Re-enter, left, FRED, and PETER. FRED, addressing 
 PETER. 
 
 FRED. Yes. I'll come back. I say, Garside, before I 
 go, congratters, and all that sort of thing, you know. 
 
 PETER (the pair have emerged very friendly). Congratu- 
 lations ? 
 
 FRED, (sweeping his hat round). On all this. 
 
 PETER (still puzzled). This ? 
 
 FRED. This jolly little place, and so on. 
 
 PETER. Oh, that's nothing. Part of the game, my 
 boy. 
 
 FRED. It's a profitable game when you can run to this 
 after six months of it. 
 
 PETER. It doesn't afford it. Did you ever hear of the 
 hire system ? A man who means to be a big success 
 simply must have a decent address and be on the tele- 
 phone. People won't believe in you if you're content to 
 hide yourself up a mean street. 
 
 FRED. But you are a big success, Mr. Garside. 
 
 PETER. Oh, I've not arrived yet. I'm ambitious. 
 
 FRED. I like your pluck. Give me a quiet life and a 
 thousand a year paid quarterly by the Bank of England. 
 Security's my mark.
 
 in] GARSIDE'S CAREER 63 
 
 PETEK. I'm betting on a certainty when I put money 
 on myself. 
 
 FRED. I'm such a thrifty soul. I never risk more than 
 10 per cent of my income on certainties. That reminds 
 me. Beversham. I must fly. See you later. (Reaches 
 door right.) About half an hour, Gladys. 
 
 [PETER goes out with him, is heard closing outer door, 
 and returns immediately, closing door. MRS. GAR- 
 SIDE yawns ostentatiously. 
 
 GLAD, (more with an air of saying something than mean- 
 ing anything). Strange that we should meet in the Strand 
 by accident, Mr. Garside. 
 
 PETER (who has paid for the moment more attention 
 to MRS. GARSIDE than to GLADYS, speaking jerkily). You 
 call it accident ? I call it Fate. (MRS. GARSIDE exe- 
 cutes another palpably diplomatic yawn.) You're tired, 
 mother. 
 
 MRS. G. Yes. 
 
 PETER. I'm sure Miss Mottram will excuse you. 
 
 MRS. G. Then I think I'll go to my bed. I'm an early 
 bird. Good night, Miss Mottram. 
 
 GLAD, (after a moment's twinge of conscience, accepting 
 MRS. GARSIDE'S hand). Good night, Mrs. Garside. 
 
 MRS. G. (to PETER, who opens right door). I'll put your 
 supper out. You'll only have your cocoa to make. 
 
 [PETER tries not to look angry at the intrusion of 
 domestic details. Exit MRS. GARSIDE. PETER 
 closes the door and stands by it. GLADYS is still in 
 the revolving chair with her back to the table. 
 
 PETER. Yes. Fate didn't mean us two to miss each 
 other. 
 
 GLAD, (lightly). Do you believe in Fate ? 
 
 PETER. I believe in mine. I know I was born under a 
 lucky star. I've a genius for overcoming obstacles, no 
 matter what they are, Miss Mottram. I've the knack of 
 getting what I want. 
 
 GLAD. Don't you find continuous success monotonous ?
 
 64 GARSIDE'S CAREER [m 
 
 PETER (smiling). They're such precious small suc- 
 cesses. I'm on the foothills yet, and I've set myself 
 a lot of peaks to climb, but already I'm in sight of 
 the highest of them all. (Looking at her hard.) Even 
 from where I stand now I can glimpse the Mount Everest 
 of my ambition. 
 
 GLAD. Happy man, to know what you want. Most of 
 us poor creatures haven't the faintest idea what we want 
 to do with our lives. 
 
 PETER. I think better of you than that. You're not a 
 bored society butterfly. 
 
 GLAD. Must one be in society to be bored ? I am bored 
 in Midlandton. 
 
 PETER (with the quickly acquired London attitude to the 
 provinces). Oh, Midlandton ! 
 
 GLAD. We don't live in Midlandton. No one does. 
 Midlandton ! It sends a shiver up your back like the tear 
 of a sheet. 
 
 PETER. I couldn't go back now. 
 
 GLAD. And I've given up hope of ever getting to 
 London. 
 
 PETER. Do you want to very much? (Draws to- 
 wards right arm-chair, and sits leaning forward towards 
 her.) 
 
 GLAD, (with deep conviction). I feel sometimes I'd do 
 anything on earth to live here. (Smiling.) You see, I'd 
 like to be a society butterfly. You can't understand that, 
 I suppose. 
 
 PETER. Why not ? 
 
 GLAD. I thought you despised luxury. 
 
 PETER. Oh dear no. I like good clothes and soft 
 living. 
 
 GLAD. But you denounce them. 
 
 PETER. What I denounce is luxury for the few and 
 penury for the many. We want to level up, not level 
 down. 
 
 GLAD. I've heard something like that before.
 
 m] GARSIDE'S CAREER 65 
 
 PETER. Probably. It's not my business to be original. 
 If I tried to be lofty I'd be talking above the heads of 
 my audiences. 
 
 GLAD, (puzzled). I wonder how much is sincere ! 
 
 PETER. Sincere ? I'm a profesional advocate. I 
 take a tiny grain of truth, dress it up in a pompous 
 parade of rhetoric and deliver it in the manner of 
 an oracle and the accent of a cheapjack. It's a 
 question of making my points tell. Sincerity doesn't 
 matter. 
 
 GLAD, (rising). If I turned myself into a human 
 gramophone, I shouldn't boast about it, Mr. Garside. 
 It's not very creditable to live by fooling the public. 
 
 PETER (rising). Creditable ? If I fooled them from 
 Fleet Street they'd make me a peer. The public likes to 
 be fooled. They know I'm fooling them. They pay me 
 to go on fooling them. Some men live by selling adul- 
 terated beer. I live by selling adulterated truth. 
 
 GLAD. And neither makes an honest livelihood. 
 
 PETER. No, neither your father the brewer, nor I the 
 demagogue. But I'm being frank with you, Miss Mottram. 
 Between us two there's not to be pretence. 
 
 GLAD. Why am / honoured with your confidences ? 
 
 PETER. Because you have a right to know. I do these 
 things to make money. I want money because because 
 of the hope that was born in me when your eyes first met 
 mine across the crowd in Midlandton. 
 
 GLAD, (after a slight pause). Mr. Garside, I I think I 
 ought to go. My brother only left me because he thought 
 your mother would be here. 
 
 PETER (going towards door right). Shall I bring her ? 
 
 GLAD. She's gone to bed. 
 
 PETER. I fancy I can find her if you tell me to. 
 
 GLAD. I'm sure I ought. 
 
 PETER. I'm sure you always do what you ought, so 
 
 (Putting his hand to the door-handle.) 
 
 GLAD, (quickly}. Yes, I do in Midlandton.
 
 66 GARSIDE'S CAREER [m 
 
 PETER (turning quickly from door). And this is London. 
 You're on holiday. 
 
 GLAD, (checking him). But not from my conscience, 
 Mr. Garside. 
 
 PETER. Oh, conscience is so much a matter of climate. 
 A Midlandton conscience finds London air very relax- 
 ing. 
 
 GLAD, (sitting slowly right as before). I don't think you 
 ought to disturb your mother, Mr. Garside. 
 
 PETER (resuming his own chair, with conscious hypocrisy). 
 No. Old people need such a lot of sleep. So that's settled. 
 Let me see. I was talking about myself, wasn't I ? 
 
 GLAD. Yes. You seem to find the subject interesting. 
 
 PETER. I'll talk about the weather if you prefer it. 
 
 GLAD. No. You can stick to your text. 
 
 PETER. Thanks. But I wasn't talking about myself 
 alone. 
 
 GLAD, (reflectively). I don't remember the exception. 
 It was all yourself and the money you're going to make. 
 
 PETER. The money. Yes. I'm making money, Miss 
 Mottram, and I'm going to make more. Do you know 
 why? 
 
 GLAD. Money's always useful, I suppose. 
 
 PETER. Yes, even a little of it. But I shan't be satisfied 
 with little. And I'm a fairly frugal man. 
 
 GLAD. You'll grow into a miser on the margin between 
 your moderate wants and your colossal income. 
 
 PETER. I might grow into a married man on that margin. 
 It's to be a good margin, because I believe no man should 
 ask his wife to accept a lower standard of living than she's 
 been accustomed to. 
 
 GLAD. I didn't know Miss Shawcross lived so well. 
 
 PETER (rising, sternly). It isn't a question of Miss 
 Shawcross. 
 
 GLAD. I thought it was. 
 
 PETER. So did I when I was a boy in Midlandton about 
 a hundred years ago. I'm wiser now. Women of her
 
 in] GARSIDE'S CAREER 67 
 
 class can't adapt themselves to changed circumstances. 
 They're a drag on a man's career. You've seen Miss 
 Shawcross ? 
 
 GLAD. Yes. 
 
 PETER. Well, you know the type. Good, plodding, 
 conscientious, provincial girl, with about as much ambi- 
 tion as a potato. Marry her to a bank clerk and she'll 
 be in her proper place. Picture her the wife of a Cabinet 
 Minister, and well, no, you can't. It's unthinkable. 
 
 GLAD. The wife of a what ? 
 
 PETER (imperviously). A Cabinet Minister. 
 
 GLAD. But you're not a Cabinet Minister. 
 
 PETER (quite seriously). No, I'm young yet. What a 
 man of my stamp wants is a wife who can help him to 
 push his way, not one I'd be ashamed to show in society. 
 
 GLAD. I see. You're marrying into one of the big 
 political families. 
 
 PETER. No. I'm showing you how you can be done 
 with Midlandton and get to London. You said you'd 
 do anything for that. 
 
 GLAD. I meant anything in reason. Shall we change 
 the subject ? 
 
 PETER. No. 
 
 GLADYS (rising, curtly). Then I must go back to the 
 hotel. 
 
 PETER. Your brother's coming for you. Meantime I 
 ask you to remember the difference between the Peter 
 Garside of six months ago and the Garside of to-day. I've 
 bridged the gulf that lay between us. A man of genius 
 can do things like that. I meant what I said, Miss 
 Mottram. I didn't say it till you encouraged me. 
 
 GLAD. I have not encouraged you. 
 
 PETER. You're here, you know. You let your brother 
 go without you. You let my mother leave us alone. 
 Isn't that encouragement ? 
 
 GLAD, (as cruelly as she can). I stayed because I find 
 you amusing.
 
 68 GARSIDE'S CAREER [m 
 
 PETER. Yes. I dare say I am amusing. People in 
 deadly earnest usually are. 
 
 GLAD, (gently). We'll forget what you said, Mr. Garside. 
 
 PETER. No, we won't. I can't ask you to marry me 
 yet because I am not rich. I'm merely prospering. But 
 I ask you to wait. Give me a year no, six months. I 
 can offer you a home in London then. It won't be worthy 
 of you, but we shan't stagnate. May I come to you in 
 six months' time to get your answer to the question I 
 haven't yet the right to ask ? 
 
 GLAD. I don't know. 
 
 PETER. No. But I know six months of Midlandton are 
 longer than six years here. You badly want to live in 
 London now. You'll want it worse then. Don't think of 
 me as I was. That's buried. Think of me as I am and 
 as I'm going to be. (Electric bell rings right.) That's 
 probably your brother. 
 
 GLAD (half sorry, but on the whole relieved). Yes. Don't 
 keep him waiting. 
 
 PETER (moving right, and stopping). Before I open the 
 door won't you tell me what I want to know ? It's all 
 for you all my ambitions. I only want position for you 
 to grace it, money for you to spend. Give me six happy 
 months of hope. 
 
 GLAD, (with a low laugh). Will hoping make you happy ? 
 
 PETER. Yes, if you tell me I may hope. 
 
 GLAD (sincerely). Then by all means hope. 
 
 [Bell rings again. 
 
 PETER. That's all I want. (He looks at her humbly. 
 She extends her hand impulsively. PETER kisses it rever- 
 ently.) 
 
 GLAD. You're very absurd. Now let my brother in. 
 [PETER crosses and opens door right, leaving it half 
 open, as he goes through and opens outside door. 
 
 PETER (heard off right, in surprised voice). Hullo ! 
 
 NED. (off right, less loudly). Good evening. 
 
 [PETER appears outside door right, pulling it to him.
 
 in] GARSIDE'S CAREER 69 
 
 PETER (off). Leave your coats here. Excuse me. I'll 
 I'll just close this door and keep the cold out till 
 you're ready. 
 
 [He enters rapidly, opening the door as little as possible, 
 
 and closing it quickly, putting his back to it. The 
 
 manoeuvre is not, however, executed fast enough to 
 
 prevent JONES peering over his shoulder as he enters. 
 
 PETER (standing against the door). It's not your brother. 
 
 GLAD, (dryly). I gathered that. I'd better go without 
 
 him. 
 
 PETER (agitated). You can't. That's the only way out. 
 They'd see you. 
 
 GLAD, (surprised). I don't mind. 
 PETER. They mustn't. 
 GLAD. Why not ? Who are they ? 
 PETER. Constituents. 
 GLAD, (alarmed). From Midlandton ? 
 PETER. Yes. Let them get a glimpse of you, and God 
 only knows what tale will be over Midlandton. 
 
 GLAD, (agreeing). Yes. They musn't see me. On no 
 account. (She crosses to left, PETER nods approvingly.) 
 PETER. My mother's there. I'll get rid of them quickly. 
 GLAD. Remember, I'm trusting you. 
 
 [Exit GLADYS, left. PETER opens door right, and speaks 
 
 off. 
 
 PETER. Ready, comrades ? Come in. (NED and 
 JONES enter, dressed much as in Act 7. PETER is genial.) 
 How are you ? Both well ? 
 
 JONES (as they shake hands). Yes, thanks. (With 
 slight emphasis.) Are you well ? 
 
 PETER. Quite well, thanks. Never better in my life. 
 (NED and JONES exchange glances.) Sit down, comrades. 
 It's good to see Midlandton faces again. 
 
 [NED in arm-chair right, JONES left, PETER in revolv- 
 ing chair. PETER'S attitude at first is the mixture of 
 obsequiousness and patronage of an M.P. to in- 
 fluential supporters.
 
 70 GARSIDE'S CAREER [m 
 
 NED. I suppose you don't see many people from the 
 old town here ? 
 ^ PETER. You're the first I've seen since I came up. 
 
 NED. Ah! 
 
 PETER. And what brings you to town ? Pleasure, I 
 suppose. 
 
 JONES. Well 
 
 PETER. Yes, I know. London's a playground to you 
 fellows. It's more like a battlefield to your hard-worked 
 member. 
 
 JONES (firmly). It's not exactly pleasure we're here 
 for, Comrade Garside. 
 
 PETER. Oh? 
 
 NED. More like business. We're a sort of a delega- 
 tion. 
 
 PETER. Delegates, eh ? What*s on ? I don't remem- 
 ber any congress at the moment ? 
 
 JONES. We're on a special mission. 
 
 PETER (obviously forcing an appearance of interest). 
 Now, that's very interesting. May I ask the object of 
 this mission ? 
 
 JONES (grimly). You're the object. 
 
 PETER. I? 
 
 NED. Yes. We've a crow to pluck with you, my 
 lad. 
 
 PETER (not yet greatly concerned). Oh ? Something you 
 want to discuss ? 
 
 JONES. Something we're going to discuss. 
 
 PETER (rising). Well, suppose I meet you to-morrow 
 morning. Come here at yes at eleven, and I'll give 
 you an hour with pleasure. 
 
 NED (shaking his head). You'll give us an hour, or as 
 long as we want, now. 
 
 PETER. Really, I'm afraid I can't. (Involuntarily 
 glancing left.) I'm busy to-night. I'll see you to-morrow. 
 
 JONES. We shan't be here to-morrow. We've to go 
 back by the midnight train. We've our livings to 'earn.
 
 in] GARSIDE'S CAREER 71 
 
 PETER. Well, look here, come back in an hour or so, 
 and I'll see you then. 
 
 JONES (commandingly). You'll see us now. Your 
 time's ours, we pay for it. 
 
 PETER. You haven't bought me, you know. You pay 
 me to represent your interests at Westminster. 
 
 JONES. Then why aren't you there representing them 
 to-night ? 
 
 PETER (irritably}. I've told you I'm busy. 
 
 JONES. Busy with what ? 
 
 PETER. Mind your own business. 
 
 NED (quietly}. It is our business. We've a right to 
 know why you're neglecting your duty. 
 
 PETER (hotly}. I don't neglect my duty. 
 
 NED, What's on at the House to-night ? 
 
 PETER (embarrassed). Well 
 
 NED (inexorably}. What's on ? 
 
 PETER. The Right to Work Bill, I believe. (Sitting 
 again.) 
 
 NED. Yes. The Right to Work Bill. The corner- 
 stone of the Labour policy. Any Labour member who's 
 absent from to-night's division deserves drumming out 
 of the party as a traitor to its cause. 
 
 PETER. Oh, I'll be there for the division if you don't 
 keep me here too long. 
 
 NED. The division's over. You're out of your place 
 on the most important night of the session. You've 
 missed your chance to speak. You've missed the division. 
 You've not paired. Your vote's lost. 
 
 PETER. It's not. The division can't take place so early. 
 
 JONES. We've been to the House. We thought we'd 
 find you there. Why weren't you there ? 
 
 PETER. I've told you I was busy. 
 
 NED. You told the Whip on the telephone you were 
 ill too ill to turn out. We were there when he rang you 
 up. We come here, and we find you well. 
 
 PETER. I am indisposed.
 
 72 GARSIDE'S CAREER [in 
 
 JONES. Indisposed ! 
 
 PETER. I meant to go. I started out to go only I 
 became ill on the way. 
 
 JONES. You told us when you shook hands you'd never 
 been better. 
 
 PETER. Oh, I dare say. The usual figure of speech. I 
 am recovering. 
 
 JONES. No. You spoke the truth then. You're lying 
 now. 
 
 PETER. Lying ! This is too much. (Rising.) 
 
 JONES (rising). You'll like it less before we've finished. 
 We're not in London losing a day's wages for our health. 
 We've been called up to decide what's to be done with 
 you. 
 
 PETER (angrily). You'll decide what's to be done with 
 me. You ! 
 
 JONES (firmly). We have decided. 
 
 NED (still sitting). They've been showing us your 
 record at the Whip's office. You ignore them. You go 
 to the House when you think you will. You refuse to 
 submit to discipline. 
 
 PETER. I serve the cause in my own way. (He is con- 
 sciously on his defence now.) It's a better way than listen- 
 ing to dry-as-dust debates and tramping endless miles 
 through the division lobbies. I'm getting at the people. 
 I'm carrying the fiery sword of revolutionary Socialism 
 through the length and breadth of the land. I'm the 
 harbinger of the new age. Wherever I go I leave behind 
 me an awakened people, stirred from their lethargy and 
 indolent acceptance of things as they are, fired with new 
 hopes of the coming dispensation, eager to throw off the 
 yoke and strike their blow for freedom, justice, and the 
 social revolution. That's my work, comrades, not wasting 
 my energy, my gift of oratory on the canting hypocrites 
 at Westminster, but keeping them fresh for the honest 
 man outside. I'm going to quarter England, town by 
 town, until
 
 in] GARSIDE'S CAREER 73 
 
 NED (rising, and putting his hand on PETER'S arm, 
 shaking his head). It won't do, Garside. 
 
 JONES. You needn't wag that silver tongue at us. 
 You're found out. 
 
 PETER. Found out ! You can't find out a man you're 
 incapable of understanding. You can't drive genius with 
 a bearing rein. I'm a man of genius, and you're angry 
 because I can't be a cog in the parliamentary machine. 
 
 NED (quietly). Whatever you are, you're paid to be a 
 cog. 
 
 PETER. If I'm to do my great work for the cause I must 
 live somehow. The labourer is worthy of his hire. 
 
 JONES. You're hired twice over. You get lecture fees 
 when you ought to be in the House. You make local 
 secretaries compete for your lectures to force your price 
 up. You've got swelled head till you think you can do as 
 you like. 
 
 PETER. I won't be dictated to by you. 
 
 NED. And yet we're your masters, you know. 
 
 PETER. It's my nature to be a free lance. Routine 
 would kill me. I've to work for the cause in my own 
 way. 
 
 NED. We don't want free lances. We want workers. 
 If you want to speak to the people aren't your week-ends 
 and vacations good enough ? 
 
 PETER. A hundred days to every week are not 
 enough. 
 
 NED. We sent you to Parliament to obey the Party 
 Whips and be governed by older and wiser heads than 
 yours. 
 
 PETER. Nelson won battles by disobeying orders. If 
 you didn't want independence you shouldn't have chosen 
 me. 
 
 JONES. We see that now. You'd ceased to be represen- 
 tative of the Midlandton working classes before we chose 
 you for our candidate. You were a B.A. You're still less 
 able to represent us now when you make as much in a
 
 74 GARSIDE'S CAREER [in 
 
 month as your average constituent does in a year. We'll 
 have a better man next time. 
 
 PETER. Yes. You find an ignorant, dense average 
 specimen of the British workman without a soul above 
 thirty shillings a week, and he'll just about represent the 
 ideas and ambitions of the Midlandton mob. 
 
 JONES. Yes, he'll represent us better than you. 
 
 PETER. Then God help representative government ! 
 You'd better be careful. My personal popularity's your 
 finest platform asset. 
 
 NED. Well, it's an asset we can do without. Put it 
 that you're too brilliant for us. 
 
 PETER. Oh, it's the old story. Genius and the Philis- 
 tine. For two pins I'd resign my seat. 
 
 NED (gravely). We accept your resignation. 
 
 PETER. What ! 
 
 JONES. We come here to demand it. 
 
 PETER (abject). Comrades, you don't mean this ! You 
 wouldn't do a man out of his job. 
 
 JONES (curtly). Oh, we're finding you a new job. 
 
 PETER. What's that ? 
 
 JONES. The Stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds. 
 
 PETER (slight pause). I won't resign. You've tried 
 and judged me in my absence. You haven't given me a 
 chance to say a word in my own defence. 
 
 NED. You can talk till you're blue in the face without 
 shifting facts. 
 
 PETER (growing increasingly hysterical). The facts are 
 that I'm a Member of the House of Commons for the term 
 of this Parliament, and you can't force me to resign until 
 I do it of my own free will. I'm still M.P. for Midlandton, 
 if I've to sleep on the Embankment. I'll go to the House 
 in rags. I'll be an M.P. still, M.P. for the outcast, the 
 despised, the rejected, the human derelicts, victims of 
 jealousy and injustice and all man's inhumanity to man. 
 
 JONES (contemptuously). You're the victim of nothing 
 but your own swelled head.
 
 in] GARSIDE'S CAREER 75 
 
 PETER. I'm the victim of my own great nature. A 
 nature that's cast in too large a mould to submit to 
 pettifogging little rules. My life was the people's. I de- 
 manded nothing in return but a free hand and no inter- 
 ference. I've to do this mighty task in my own way. 
 
 JONES. Yes. The way you found most profitable. 
 
 PETER. I'm spending every penny I earn. 
 
 JONES. Yes. I'll believe you for once. This place 
 proves that. We sent you here to be our representative, 
 not to be a bloody* gentleman. I know what your in- 
 disposition was that kept you from the House to- 
 night. I saw its skirts when you opened the door. 
 That's what we're paying for. For you to faugh, you 
 sicken me. 
 
 PETER. You lie. 
 
 JONES. I don't. I saw her. 
 
 PETER (deliberately). There's no woman here except 
 my mother. 
 
 NED (solemnly). Is that the truth, Peter ? I also 
 thought I saw a skirt that I'm sure your mother couldn't 
 wear. 
 
 PETER. It's the truth. Upon my word of honour it's 
 the truth. 
 
 JONES (roughly). I don't believe it. 
 
 NED (protesting). We have his word, Karl. 
 
 JONES. The word of a convicted liar. He lied about 
 his absence from the House. He's lying now. 
 
 PETER (with determination). You'll take my word for it. 
 
 [Door bell rings R. 
 
 JONES. Yes, if you'll let me see who's in that room. 
 
 PETER. My mother's there. 
 
 JONES. And no one else ? 
 
 PETER. Nobody. 
 
 JONES. Then show us. Prove it. 
 
 * This word must be omitted in representation. It was censored 
 by the Lord Chamberlain about two months before it was passed in 
 Mr. Shaw's " Pygmalion.'
 
 76 GARSIDE'S CAREER [in 
 
 NED. He's said enough, Karl. He's passed his 
 word. 
 
 JONES. I don't believe his word's worth that. (Snap- 
 ping fingers.) He's lying for a woman. (Bitterly.) It's 
 the code of a gentleman to lie for a woman. 
 
 [Door bell rings again. 
 
 PETER. I can't help your disbelief. 
 
 JONES. No, but you can open that door. (Indicating 
 left.) 
 
 PETER (his back to the door). You'll take my word. 
 (Again the door bell rings, and MRS. GARSIDE enters left. 
 PETER turns round on her, surprising her by his vehemence. 
 Angrily.) What is it ? 
 
 [The door remains open. 
 
 MRS. G. Someone's at the door. Didn't you hear the 
 bell ring ? 
 
 PETER. Let it ring. Don't you see I've visitors ? 
 
 NED (coming forward like a friend). Good evening, Mrs. 
 Garside. 
 
 MRS. G. (unheeding, troubled with PETER). But it'll be, 
 Mr. Mottram come back for his sister. 
 
 JONES. What? 
 
 [He crosses to look through the left door. GLADYS enters, 
 meeting JONES' eye. 
 
 GLAD. May I go through to my brother, Mr. Garside ? 
 
 JONES (falling back). Miss Mottram ! 
 
 [PETER looks from one to the other like a caged animal. 
 
 NED (with genuine feeling). Lad, lad, do you lie for the 
 sake of lying ? 
 
 JONES (triumphantly, his voice ringing). I think there'll 
 be no difficulty about that resignation now. 
 
 PETER (after a slight pause, tensely). On one condition. 
 
 JONES (scornfully). You're in a grand position for mak- 
 ing conditions. 
 
 PETER. Keep your mouths shut about Miss Mottram's 
 presence here, and I place my resignation in the Speaker's 
 hands to-morrow. (Slight pause.)
 
 in] GARSIDE'S CAREER 77 
 
 NED. I accept. 
 
 JONES (disagreeing violently). Well, I 
 
 NED. You accept. 
 
 JONES. But 
 
 NED. You have our promise, Garside, and you can 
 take my word. 
 
 [JONES is silent and sullen. 
 
 GLAD, (vaguely). What ! 
 
 PETER (hysterically). You heard. I'm resigning my 
 seat in the House of Commons. Humpty-dumpty had a 
 great fall. ( JONES laughs aloud, GLADYS smiles slightly, 
 PETER almost screams.) Don't laugh. (Suddenly self- 
 pitying.) I don't know what I'm saying. (With a flicker 
 of the old pride.) But I was an M.P. once. You can't 
 take that from me. (Blundering blindly to door, left.) Oh, 
 go, go, all of you. I want to be alone. 
 
 [The door bell has been steadily ringing. PETER goes 
 off left, and bangs the door behind him. 
 
 GLAD. Will you let my brother in, Mrs. Garside ? 
 [MRS. GARSIDE goes right, and opens door, goes through 
 and lets FRED. in. 
 
 FRED, (to GLADYS). Thought you'd gone to sleep. 
 (Seeing JONES.) Hello ! Our friend of the election. 
 
 GLAD, (impatiently). Never mind these men. Come 
 away. 
 
 FRED. Well, don't snap a fellow's head off. (NED and 
 JONES quietly go out right.) Sorry I've been so long, 
 only 
 
 GLAD. It doesn't matter. (Raising her voice, looking 
 left). Mr. Garside's been an entertainment in himself. 
 
 FRED, (crossing). Where is he ? In there ? 
 
 GLAD, (crossing to right door). Oh, will you come ? 
 
 FRED. Must do the decent by our Member, you 
 know. 
 
 GLAD. He's not our Member, he's resigned. 
 
 FRED. Good Lord ! Why ? 
 
 GLAD. Oh, can't you see we're not wanted here ?
 
 78 GARSIDE'S CAREER [in 
 
 FRED, (crossing towards her). All right. Don't get 
 vicious. Nothing to lose your temper over, is it ? 
 
 GLAD. I've lost more than my temper. I've lost a 
 chance. . . . Oh, never mind. What's the next train for 
 Midlandton ? 
 
 FRED. Train ? What you want's some supper. We've 
 two more days of town. 
 
 GLAD. Yes. We'll eat, drink, and be merry, for to- 
 morrow we die. You're standing me champagne to-night, 
 Freddie. 
 
 [She goes out right. FRED, looks after her, puzzled, 
 crosses, and shakes MRS. GARSIDE'S limp hand. 
 
 FRED. Good night, Mrs. Garside. 
 
 [He follows GLADYS. MRS. GARSIDE goes right, the 
 outer door closes, she turns light off in the hall and 
 re-enters, closing the door behind her. PETER re- 
 enters left, composed. 
 
 PETER. Have they all gone ? 
 
 MRS. G. Yes. (Pathetically puzzled.) What does it all 
 mean, Peter ? 
 
 PETER. Mean ? Ruin. My career's blasted. (Sits at 
 table, turning chair towards her.) 
 
 MRS. G. But why, Peter ? I can't understand it. I 
 
 PETER. Why? Because I was too successful. Jealousy. 
 That's it. They do nothing themselves, but they won't 
 give young blood a chance. Mediocrity's their motto. 
 They've no use for brains. So I'm kicked out. 
 
 MRS. G. Don't take on about it, deary. They'll find 
 they can't do without you. 
 
 PETER. You'd always faith, hadn't you, mother ? 
 (Turning to table and putting his head on his hands.) 
 But I've fallen like Lucifer, never to rise again. 
 
 MRS. G. (struck with a new delightful thought, hesitating 
 to utter it). Peter, it means it means 
 
 PETER (not turning). What ? 
 
 MRS. G. (standing centre). Oh, I'm so glad. 
 
 PETER (leaping up angrily, and turning on her). Glad !
 
 in] GARSIDE'S CAREER 79 
 
 MRS. G. I've been so unhappy here. I shall be glad to 
 be in Midlandton again. 
 
 PETER (disgustedly}. Midlandton ! (Shuddering.) Those 
 grimy streets reeking of poverty. 
 
 MRS. G. (reproachfully). Peter ! Midlandton is home. 
 [She gives way a little. PETER stands centre. 
 
 PETER. Yes. After all, why not ? The wounded lion 
 crawls to its lair to die. (Pause, looking straight out.) I 
 wonder. Am I a lion or only an ass braying in a lion's 
 skin? 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Scene as ACT I, except that the room has a bareness indi- 
 cative of a recent removal. The bookcase is on the floor 
 instead of being fastened to the wall, and no pictures are 
 hung. 
 
 MRS. GARSIDE, dressed as ACT I, sits dejectedly in the 
 rocking-chair. A knock at the door, centre. MRS. GARSIDE 
 sighs heavily, rouses herself slowly, crosses and opens door. 
 DENIS O'CALLAGAN is on the doorstep. The blind is drawn. 
 One incandescent light. 
 
 O'CAL. May I come in, Mrs. Garside ? 
 
 MRS. G. And welcome, Mr. O'Callagan. 
 
 [He enters. She closes door. 
 
 O'CAL. (coming centre, in front of table, glancing up- 
 wards). Still the same ? 
 
 MRS. G. (standing centre, gloomily). Oh, yes. He 
 doesn't seem to care for anything. 
 
 O'CAL. I can hear him moving about upstairs. 
 
 MRS. G. (sitting left of table, as if too weary to stand). I 
 never hear anything else. It's driving me mad. Up and 
 down, up and down, all day long, and all night too, till 
 he drops because he's too tired to put one foot before the 
 other. It's like a wild beast in a cage. 
 
 O'CAL. You've not got him to go out yet ? 
 
 MRS. G. Nor look like doing till he's carried out feet 
 foremost. He says he'll never show his face in Midlandton 
 again. I've done all the work. Getting the furniture out 
 of store and everything. Peter didn't raise a hand. 
 
 O'CAL. You dropped lucky finding the old house 
 empty. 
 
 80
 
 iv] GARSIDE'S CAREER 81 
 
 MRS. G. I don't know if I did. It reminds him. Won't 
 take his food now. That's the latest. Not that I've 
 much to give him. Heaven knows where it'll end. We 
 with no money coming in and nearly every penny as we 
 had gone to pay his debts in London and fetch us here. 
 Workhouse next, I reckon. 
 
 O'CAL. (patting her shoulder encouragingly). Let you 
 not be talking like that, Mrs. Garside. There's no call to 
 despair. Peter's got to be roused. 
 
 MRS. G. Haven't we tried and failed ? If you fancy 
 you know the way to do it I'll be obliged by your telling 
 me. 
 
 O'CAL. Oh, we've not tried them all yet. 
 
 MRS. G. (vigorously). Then for God's sake go up to him 
 and try. 
 
 O'CAL. (without moving). Sure he's not himself at 
 all. 
 
 MRS. G. (rising, with more force in her voice). Denis 
 O'Callagan, if you've a plan to rouse my poor boy I've 
 told you to go upstairs and try it on him. If you've come 
 to stand there like a log and tell me what I've known 
 this week and more, there's my door, and the sooner you 
 put your ugly face outside it the better you'll please 
 me. 
 
 O'CAL. (giving way a little). I come to tell you of the 
 cure we will be putting on him. I'm thinking it won't 
 be to your taste and you short tempered with your 
 trouble. 
 
 MRS. G. Do you think I care what it is so it puts an 
 end to this ? 
 
 O'CAL. Is that the truth you're telling me ? 
 
 MRS. G. Truth ! Bless the man. I'm at the bitter 
 end. 
 
 O'CAL. (briskly). Then I'll be stepping out and bring- 
 ing out my cure. I didn't fetch her in because I knew you 
 quarrelled^with her. (He reaches the door and puts his hand 
 to the latch.)
 
 82 GARSIDE'S CAREER [iv 
 
 MRS. G. Stop ! Do you mean Maragret Shawcross ? 
 
 O'CAL. Yes. (He takes a step towards table. They speak 
 across it.) 
 
 MRS. G. That woman doesn't cross my threshold. 
 
 O'CAL. The sight of her 'ull bring the life back into 
 Peter. 
 
 MRS. G. No. 
 
 O'CAL. You said you wouldn't care what I did. 
 
 MRS. G. I didn't know you meant her. 
 
 O'CAL. (coming round table). No, and you called me 
 all the names you could lay your tongue to when I came 
 in last week. 
 
 MRS. G. I thought you one of the lot that ruined Peter. 
 I've told you I'm sorry for what I said. 
 
 O'CAL. Yes. You see it now. Why won't you see Miss 
 Shawcross is a friend as well ? 
 
 MRS. G. (sullenly). She's a woman. 
 
 O'CAL. And can't you be mistaken about a woman 
 just as much as a man ? 
 
 MRS. G. She never did Peter any good. She always 
 thought too little of him. 
 
 O'CAL. (pleadingly). Give her a chance, Mrs. Garside, 
 she loves him. 
 
 MRS. G. She'd a queer way of showing it, then. 
 
 O'CAL. She loves him. 
 
 MRS. G. (hotly). And don't I love him ? If love's all 
 he wants to put him right, won't his mother 
 
 O'CAL. There's different kinds of love. Let her try 
 hers. 
 
 MRS. G. (grimly). Yes. Let her try. 
 
 O'CAL. (moving eagerly). May I ? 
 
 MRS. G. Bring her in. 
 
 [O'CALLAGAN goes to door, then turns suddenly sus- 
 picious. 
 
 O'CAL. You're not going to be rude to her ? 
 
 MRS. G. I'm going to give her her chance fair and square. 
 Loves him, does she ? We'll see if her love's good enough
 
 iv] GARSIDE'S CAREER 83 
 
 to do what my love can't, and I'll own I'm wrong about 
 her. She'll get no second chance. 
 O'CAL. She'll need none, neither. 
 MRS. G. Well, we'll see. Open the door and call her in. 
 [O'CALLAGAN opens door and calls off. 
 O'CAL. Will you come in, Miss Shawcross ? 
 
 [Enter MARGARET in a plain winter costume with a 
 
 cheap fur round her neck. 
 O'CAL. (in her ear as she passes him). It's all right. 
 
 [He closes door, MARGARET crosses to MRS. GARSIDE. 
 MAR. (anxiously waiving ceremony). How is he, Mrs. 
 Garside ? 
 
 MRS. G. (turning from her to O'CALLAGAN). Bring him 
 down, Denis, you know the way. (O'CALLAGAN crosses 
 and exit R. MRS. GARSIDE faces MARGARET.) We'll 
 understand each other first. You're here on sufferance. 
 I've let you in same as I would a doctor, because O'Cal- 
 lagan thinks there's a chance you'll cure Peter. We're 
 strangers till you've done it. 
 
 MAR. I understand. Thank you for letting me come. 
 How is he ? 
 
 MRS. G. He's like to die because he doesn't want to 
 live. 
 
 [Enter R., O'CALLAGAN and PETER, whose spectacular 
 disarray is nicely calculated. Physically he appears 
 normal, but his ruffled hair, cross-buttoned waistcoat, 
 unbuttoned collar and crooked black tie give the 
 appearance of hopeless abandon. He enters wearily, 
 forgetting himself for a moment on seeing MARGARET 
 and speaking vigorously. 
 
 PETER. You here ! (Turns as if to go back, but O'CAL- 
 LAGAN closes the door quickly.) Why didn't you tell me, 
 Denis ? 
 
 MAR. (stepping forward). Don't go. I've come to see 
 you, Peter. 
 
 PETER. I'm not on exhibition. What have you come 
 for ? To gloat over me, to see for yourself how well you
 
 84 GARSIDE'S CAREER [iv 
 
 prophesied when you told me I should fail. (He turns his 
 back on her, only to face O'CALLAGAN.) 
 
 O'CAL. I'm telling you you're not a failure. It's just 
 a temporary check in your career you've had. 
 
 PETER (sullenly). My career's ended. 
 
 [MRS. GARSIDE sits in the rocking-chair, aloof, watching. 
 
 MAR. At twenty-six, Peter ? 
 
 PETER (turning). That's my tragedy. Waste. At 
 twenty-six I'm looking backward on a closed account. 
 The future's blank all the brilliant fruitful years I 
 might have lived. 
 
 MAR. That you will live, Peter. 
 
 PETER (sitting left of table, elbows on table and head 
 in hands). Oh, what's the use of that ? I'm finished. 
 Out, middle stump. And [there's no second innings in 
 life. 
 
 O'CAL. Isn't there ? Don't the people need you just 
 as much as ever ? 
 
 PETER (without turning to him). The people have no 
 use for broken idols, Denis. 
 
 MAR. But we need you, Peter. 
 
 PETER (looking up). Who are we ? 
 
 MAR. Your own people. 
 
 PETER. You ! You never believed in me. 
 
 MAR. I always thought you'd the wrong temperament 
 for Parliament. 
 
 PETER. You knew me for the rotten failure that I am. 
 I congratulate you on your perspicacity. 
 
 MAR. (shaking her head). I'm not proud of it. What do 
 you propose to do ? 
 
 PETER. I don't propose to do anything. (Resuming 
 the hopeless attitude). I've shot my bolt. I'm a man with 
 a past, an ex-M.P., ex-Everything. 
 
 O'CAL. (with conviction). You're a blazing idiot. 
 
 PETER. I quite agree. 
 
 O'CAL. You're not. You know you're not. I'm only 
 saying it to rouse you.
 
 iv] GARSIDE'S CAREER 85 
 
 PETER. You'll say nothing that I won't agree 
 with. 
 
 O'CAL. All right. You've a big future before you. 
 
 PETER. I can't agree to that. 
 
 O'CAL. You have. You're going to 
 
 PETER. I'm going to take it lying down, Denis, and 
 that's all there is to it. 
 
 MAR. That's a pretty mean thing to say, Peter. 
 
 PETER. Oh, taunts don't sting me now. I've reached 
 the further side of agony. 
 
 MAR. (sitting at table, centre, leaning on it very close to 
 PETER, and speaking without a trace of sympathy). Peter, 
 don't you think you've made sufficient demonstration of 
 your grief ? 
 
 PETER. Demonstration ? 
 
 MAR. We're all tremendously impressed. You've 
 thoroughly alarmed us. That's what you wanted, 
 wasn't it ? (PETER meets her eye questioningly.) To 
 prove to yourself that after all you're still of con- 
 sequence to somebody. It's quite true, [Peter. We're 
 not content to watch you sulk to death. You've made 
 your big effect. For a week you've had the joy of 
 fostering your wound, keeping it open for all the 
 world to see how hardly you've been hit, but it's time 
 you healed it now. 
 
 PETER (hiding his head on the table). Misunderstood ! 
 
 MAR. Misunderstood ? (Rising and tapping the table.) 
 Or found out, Peter ? Which ? 
 
 PETER (pitiably turning, still sitting, to MRS. GARSIDE). 
 Mother, you let these people in. Are you going to sit 
 there and let them bully a sick man ? 
 
 MAR. (admiringly). That's a good pose, Peter. The 
 great, strong, self-willed man brought down to crying to 
 his mammie. 
 
 PETER (in an agonised shriek). Mother ! 
 
 MRS. G. (firmly}. I'm not going to interfere. I promised 
 Margaret her own way.
 
 86 GARSIDE'S CAREER [iv 
 
 PETER. But 
 
 MRS. G. (interrupting, dryly). Besides, I think there 
 may be something in it. 
 
 [PETER hides his face again with a deep " Oh ! " 
 
 O'CAL. (putting his hand on PETER'S shoulder). Be a 
 man, Peter. 
 
 PETER (looking up at him). Yes, it's all very well for 
 you to talk. You with your beastly robust health. I'm 
 an invalid. 
 
 MAR. I assure you, you're not looking half so feeble 
 as you did. You're improving under treatment. 
 
 PETER. Then I must thrive on torture. 
 
 MAR. Something's doing you good. You're not the 
 woebegone catastrophe you were. 
 
 PETER (rising). I won't tolerate this. 
 
 MAR. You prefer to be a catastrophe, in fact ? 
 
 PETER (moving right). I want to be left alone. I'm 
 going to my bedroom. You can't follow me there. 
 
 MAR. Oh, you'll not escape that way. I don't in the 
 least mind invading your bedroom. A doctor has privi- 
 leges. 
 
 PETER. All right. I'll go out, then. Mother, where's 
 my hat ? 
 
 MAR. Splendid. Fresh air will do you good. 
 
 PETER. I won't go out. They'll mock me in the 
 streets. 
 
 MAR. Then you prefer my medicine ? I'll go on dosing 
 you. 
 
 PETER (sitting centre, behind table, covering face). I'll 
 close my eyes and stop my ears. 
 
 MAR. (taking her hat off). The night is young. (She puts 
 her hat on the bookcase and her fur on it.) 
 
 PETER (turning and watching her). Oh ! So it's to be 
 a trial of strength, is it ? 
 
 MAR. Just as you like. As I'm strong and you're weak, 
 I ought to win. 
 
 PETER. We'll see if I'm weak.
 
 iv] GARSIDE'S CAREER 87 
 
 MAR. Of course, I've only your word for it. 
 
 [MARGARET takes chair from wall, right, and puts it 
 before fire. 
 
 PETER. Weak as I am, I'm strong enough to tire you 
 out. (Folding his arms.) 
 
 MAR. I don't go to work till nine in the morning. 
 (Sitting on her chair.) You don't mind my making myself 
 comfortable for the night, Mrs. Garside ? 
 
 MRS. G. I've told you I'm not interfering, Margaret. 
 You can do as you like. 
 
 MAR. Denis, go home. I want to be alone with 
 Peter. 
 
 PETER. Stay where you are, Denis. Don't leave me 
 alone with her. 
 
 O'CAL. Don't ! But I will and sharp too, for it's 
 wishing you a quick recovery I am, and the more you hate 
 your medicine the better it is for you. Good night. 
 
 [Exit O'CALLAGAN, L. 
 
 MAR. Now, Peter, I'm going to talk to you. 
 
 MRS. G. I'll take myself out of your way. (Going R.) 
 
 PETER. Mother ! You too ! Haven't I a friend in the 
 world ? 
 
 MRS. G. You wouldn't listen to me. It's her turn now. 
 Call me if you want me, Margaret. 
 
 [Exit MRS. GARSIDE, R. 
 
 PETER (sitting c., stopping his ears). I shan't 
 listen. 
 
 MAR. (sitting and making herself ostentatiously comfort- 
 able in the rocking-chair, poking fire). Oh, take your time. 
 I'm quite comfortable. (She leans back humming " Home, 
 Sweet Home.") 
 
 PETER (unstopping his ears). What ? 
 
 MAR. Oh, could you hear ? You're such a bad listener 
 as a rule. You much prefer to talk. 
 
 PETER (folding his arms). My talking days are past. 
 I'll be as mute as a fish. Go on. Say what you like. I'll 
 stand it all.
 
 88 GARSIDE'S CAREER [iv 
 
 MAR. (rising and looking down on him). Peter, Peter, 
 how young you are ! 
 
 PETER (rising excitedly). Young ! I'm not young. 
 
 MAR. I thought you were going to be silent. 
 
 PETER (walking up and down). Young ! As if youth 
 had anything to do with arithmetic and the number of 
 one's years. I'm old in suffering and experience. I'm 
 an old, old man. 
 
 MAR. (standing c. against table, watching). When you 
 sow wild oats that old feeling is usually part of the 
 crop. 
 
 PETER (hotly). I haven't sown wild oats. I'm not that 
 sort of man. (Hesitating.) Unless you mean 
 
 MAR. I didn't, but I might have done. 
 
 PETER (sitting, sullenly). I wish there were no such 
 things as women in the world ! 
 
 MAR. The bi-sexual system has its disadvantages. 
 But we'll forget Miss Mottram, Peter. That was a 
 private indiscretion. You sowed your wild oats publicly 
 in the fierce light that beats upon a politician. That was 
 the arrogance of youth. 
 
 PETER. I'm not so young as you. 
 
 MAR. No. Youth is a gift we both possess. I don't 
 intend to waste mine, Peter. 
 
 PETER. No ? Well, you've me before you as an awful 
 
 warning. I'm a living cautionary tale. I'm O, 
 
 what's the good of talking ? 
 
 MAR. Here's a change of front ! You used to tell me 
 talking was the finest thing you knew. 
 
 PETER. Margaret, have you no reverence at all ? 
 
 MAR. For talking ? 
 
 PETER. For human suffering. You're mocking at my 
 life's tragedy. You hummed a tune just now you must 
 have known was agony to me. My home in Midlandton ! 
 It's like living in an ashpit. 
 
 MAR. Oh, no, it's not, and if it is, the microbes can be 
 happy in their insignificance.
 
 iv] GARSIDE'S CAREER 89 
 
 PETER (solemnly). I shall not know happiness again. 
 
 MAR. Oh, need you keep it up with me, Peter ? 
 
 PETER (surprised). Keep what up ? 
 
 MAR. The pose. You've had your fun with us. 
 
 PETER. Fun ! 
 
 MAR. You've brought us to your feet. We've all come : 
 all of us who care. 
 
 PETER. Care ? What do you care for me ? Why 
 should you care for a broken man, a derelict, one of the 
 legion of the lost, a rotten 
 
 MAR. (vigorously). Will you stop embroidering ? Do 
 you think I've come to listen to all the pretty phrases 
 you've spent a week inventing about yourself ? 
 
 PETER. Heaven knows what you came for. 
 
 MAR. You know as well as Heaven does. 
 
 PETER. Do I ? But it's So much has happened 
 
 since. That's all so long ago. 
 
 MAR. Less than a year, Peter. 
 
 PETER. A year ! What's a year ! From poverty to 
 Parliament, from Parliament to hell. 
 
 MAR. Still spinning phrases, Peter. 
 
 PETER (sincerely). I'm a pauper, Margaret. That's not 
 a phrase, it's a fact. 
 
 MAR. Is there no work to be done in the world ? 
 
 PETER. A man like me wants something else than 
 bread to work for. I had a career once, it's gone to- 
 day. 
 
 MAR. Thank God, it is. 
 
 PETER. Yes, if you like, thank God for it. It deserved 
 to go. But nothing's left worth living for. 
 
 MAR. I'll give you that. 
 
 PETER. What? 
 
 MAR. The object, Peter. Don't say again you don't 
 know why I came. 
 
 PETER. Yes, Margaret, I know. 
 
 MAR. Why not admit it, then ? 
 
 PETER. Because I daren't. A man who's fallen as I
 
 90 GARSIDE'S CAREER [iv 
 
 fell deserves no second chance. I've been a billy fool, but 
 it won't mend that to be a criminal fool. 
 
 MAR. What do you mean by being a criminal fool ? 
 
 PETER. I might have acted as I meant to act when 
 next I saw you. 
 
 MAR. How did you mean to act ? 
 
 PETER. I meant to ask forgiveness on my knees for all 
 the things I said to you. Up in my room I'd come to see 
 it all, see what a swine I'd been, how right you were, 
 how much you knew me better than I knew myself. I 
 thought in London that I'd met the worst. I thought 
 my bitterest hour was past. But worst and bitterest of 
 all was when I realised all that I'd done to you, all that 
 that doing made me miss. 
 
 MAR. (hardly). Then when I came you didn't do as 
 you intended. 
 
 PETER. Margaret, I saw you and I felt ashamed. It's 
 one thing to decide within one's mind to do a thing, but 
 quite another thing to do it in the flesh. I saw you, 
 saw the suffering in your face and knew that I had caused 
 it all. I felt ashamed to speak. 
 
 MAR. Ashamed to ask forgiveness ? Ashamed to carry 
 out your plan ? 
 
 PETER. We weren't alone. There were others there. 
 
 MAR. Just pride, in fact. You were too proud to ask. 
 And when the others went ? 
 
 PETER. Oh, yes. Yes. Pride again. Then, too, 
 until 
 
 MAR. Till when ? You've not asked yet. 
 
 PETER. Margaret, am I worth while forgiving ? 
 
 MAR. Peter, when your mother let me come, I 
 came. 
 
 PETER. Yes ! 
 
 MAR. So I thought it worth while. 
 
 PETER. Margaret, you are so beautiful, and I 
 
 MAR. Listen to me, Peter. You tell me I am beautiful. 
 You told me I am young. I am, but I'm a year older
 
 iv] GARSIDE'S CAREER 91 
 
 than I was twelve months ago. Twelve months ago, when 
 you 
 
 PETER. Yes. I know. 
 
 MAIL It's been a crowded year for you. (Gesture from 
 PETER.) Too crowded, yes, but there was glamour in it all. 
 You've paid a price, but you've known the flavour of 
 success. You've had your fun. I've spent my year in 
 Midlandton (PETER shudders] a place where one can 
 live, Peter. Oh, yes, one can. But I've been lonely here. 
 A year's dropped from me sadly, slowly. I've kept myself 
 alive and that, the daily round, is all my history, while 
 you well, never mind. The past is past. We're where 
 we were a year ago, a little older, just a little less in love 
 with life, but still we're here, Peter. You and I, just as 
 we were before. 
 
 PETER. Just as we were ? 
 
 MAR. Why not ? Love understands. We're both a 
 little scarred. We both need picking up and making 
 whole. We need each other, Peter. 
 
 PETER. You need me ! Margaret, you're not just 
 putting it that way because 
 
 MAR. Because it's true. We need each other badly. 
 
 PETER (taking for). Margaret ! 
 
 MAR. So you will have me, Peter ? 
 
 PETER. I think I always loved you, Margaret. Through- 
 out the madness of my pride, behind it all, I think I 
 never quite forgot the great reality of you. I've been 
 ambition's drunkard, but behind the mist of self-deluded 
 dream, the light shone dimly through. London brought 
 me no peace. 
 
 MAR. I'll bring you peace. 
 
 PETER. I think you will. (From her.} Oh, but it's 
 madness, madness, Margaret. What are we thinking of ? 
 
 MAR. Our happiness. 
 
 PETER. Yes, for a moment we've been happy fools. 
 Now I'm awake. 
 
 MAR. And so ?
 
 92 GARSIDE'S CAREER [iv 
 
 PETER. And so good-bye. 
 
 MAR. Indeed ? 
 
 PETER. Oh, would to God, it needn't be. But here I 
 am, an outcast, and 
 
 MAR. (quickly). No phrases, Peter. 
 
 PETER. I'm a man without a job, Margaret. I can't 
 keep myself, let alone anyone else. 
 
 MAR. Have you tried ? 
 
 PETER. I've thought of ways. Scraps of journalism, 
 perhaps. I might live that way for a time. I'm a 
 notorious person. They'll take my stuff until my my 
 escapade's forgotten. Then they'll drop me. 
 
 MAR. Excellent reasons for not being a journalist. 
 
 PETER. I'm fit for nothing else. I thought I had 
 supporters, friends who'd rally round when the official 
 party sent me to the rightabout. I've waited there a 
 week. I have no friends. 
 
 MAR. You don't need friends. You want an employer, 
 and I thought you were a skilled mechanic. 
 
 PETER. Yes. As a matter of fact I did have a vague 
 idea of going in for aeroplanes. 
 
 MAR. Oh, Peter, Peter, still the high flights ! 
 
 PETER (earnestly). There's money in it, Margaret. 
 
 MAR. For the mechanic ? 
 
 PETER. I shouldn't be a mechanic long. A man of 
 original mind like me is bound to be ahead of the crowd. 
 I've to keep moving fast. I can't wait for the mob to 
 catch me up. Yes, there's something in that aeroplane 
 idea. 
 
 MAR. There is. Fame. Applause. Incense Every- 
 thing that ruined you before. 
 
 PETER. You can't be famous without risk. 
 
 MAR. Why be famous ? 
 
 PETER. That's your doing. You wakened my ambi- 
 tions. They're there now, ineradically fixed, and if 
 they weren't there for myself, they would be there for 
 you.
 
 iv] GARSIDE'S CAREER 93 
 
 MAR. For me ? I don't want them, Peter. Fight 
 them down. Be humble. 
 
 PETER. I'm not built for humility. 
 
 MAR. Drop your ambition, Peter. You will feel like 
 Christian when he lost his pack. 
 
 PETER. What do you want me to do ? 
 
 MAR. There is always room for you at your old place. 
 
 PETER. Back to the mechanic's bench. In Midlandton, 
 where everybody knows ! That's humble pie with a 
 vengeance. 
 
 MAR. A new beginning, Peter. 
 
 PETER. There's no such thing. In life, we pay. 
 
 MAR. We'll pay together then. 
 
 PETER. I can't go back. 
 
 MAR. A man can do things for his woman, Peter, when 
 he can't do them for himself. 
 
 PETER. You want me to go back ? 
 
 MAR. Yes, Peter, back to the starting-place. 
 
 PETER. It's a bitter pill. 
 
 MAR. But won't you swallow it for me ? For my 
 sake, Peter. 
 
 PETER. Yes, Margaret, you've won. I'll go back if 
 they'll have me. 
 
 MAR. Thank you, Peter. 
 
 PETER. Don't thank me, dear. It's 
 
 MAR. Why not ? It means I'm going to have my 
 heart's desire. 
 
 PETER. What's that ? 
 
 MAR. Just you. 
 
 PETER. Margaret ! 
 
 MAR. Yes, Peter. 
 
 PETER. Are you happy ? 
 
 MAR. Yes. 
 
 PETER. Yes ? Only yes ? When I'm almost afraid to 
 be so happy, when 
 
 MAR. Yes, Peter, when you are down, you are very, 
 very down, and when you're up you are up
 
 94 GARSIDE'S CAREER [rv 
 
 PETER. That's the way with all geniuses Oh, I 
 
 forgot. I'm not a 
 
 MAR. Never mind. You're genius enough for me. 
 Only, we'll stop telling other people about it, eh, Peter ? 
 Now let's go to your mother. 
 
 [They move n. together. 
 
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