The Silver Box | Page 4

gates MRS.
SEDDON, a landlady SNOW, a detective A POLICE MAGISTRATE
AN UNKNOWN LADY, from beyond TWO LITTLE GIRLS,
homeless LIVENS, their father A RELIEVING OFFICER A
MAGISTRATE'S CLERK AN USHER POLICEMEN, CLERKS,

AND OTHERS
TIME: The present. The action of the first two Acts takes place on
Easter Tuesday; the action of the third on Easter Wednesday week.
ACT I. SCENE I. Rockingham Gate. John Barthwick's dining-room.
SCENE II. The same. SCENE III. The same.
ACT II. SCENE I. The Jones's lodgings, Merthyr Street. SCENE II.
John Barthwick's dining-room.
ACT III. A London police court.

ACT I
SCENE I
The curtain rises on the BARTHWICK'S dining-room, large, modern,
and well furnished; the window curtains drawn. Electric light is
burning. On the large round dining-table is set out a tray with whisky, a
syphon, and a silver cigarette-box. It is past midnight.
A fumbling is heard outside the door. It is opened suddenly; JACK
BARTHWICK seems to fall into the room. He stands holding by the
door knob, staring before him, with a beatific smile. He is in evening
dress and opera hat, and carries in his hand a sky-blue velvet lady's
reticule. His boyish face is freshly coloured and clean-shaven. An
overcoat is hanging on his arm.
JACK. Hello! I've got home all ri----[Defiantly.] Who says I sh 'd never
've opened th' door without 'sistance. [He staggers in, fumbling with the
reticule. A lady's handkerchief and purse of crimson silk fall out.]
Serve her joll' well right--everything droppin' out. Th' cat. I 've scored
her off--I 've got her bag. [He swings the reticule.] Serves her joly' well
right. [He takes a cigarette out of the silver box and puts it in his
mouth.] Never gave tha' fellow anything! [He hunts through all his
pockets and pulls a shilling out; it drops and rolls away. He looks for it.]
Beastly shilling! [He looks again.] Base ingratitude! Absolutely
nothing. [He laughs.] Mus' tell him I've got absolutely nothing.
[He lurches through the door and down a corridor, and presently returns,
followed by JONES, who is advanced in liquor. JONES, about thirty
years of age, has hollow cheeks, black circles round his eyes, and rusty
clothes: He looks as though he might be unemployed, and enters in a
hang-dog manner.]
JACK. Sh! sh! sh! Don't you make a noise, whatever you do. Shu' the

door, an' have a drink. [Very solemnly.] You helped me to open the
door--I 've got nothin, for you. This is my house. My father's name's
Barthwick; he's Member of Parliament--Liberal Member of Parliament:
I've told you that before. Have a drink! [He pours out whisky and
drinks it up.] I'm not drunk [Subsiding on a sofa.] Tha's all right. Wha's
your name? My name's Barthwick, so's my father's; I'm a Liberal
too--wha're you?
JONES. [In a thick, sardonic voice.] I'm a bloomin' Conservative. My
name's Jones! My wife works 'ere; she's the char; she works 'ere.
JACK. Jones? [He laughs.] There's 'nother Jones at College with me.
I'm not a Socialist myself; I'm a Liberal--there's ve--lill difference,
because of the principles of the Lib--Liberal Party. We're all equal
before the law--tha's rot, tha's silly. [Laughs.] Wha' was I about to say?
Give me some whisky.
[JONES gives him the whisky he desires, together with a squirt of
syphon.]
Wha' I was goin' tell you was--I 've had a row with her. [He waves the
reticule.] Have a drink, Jonessh 'd never have got in without you--tha 's
why I 'm giving you a drink. Don' care who knows I've scored her off.
Th' cat! [He throws his feet up on the sofa.] Don' you make a noise,
whatever you do. You pour out a drink--you make yourself good long,
long drink--you take cigarette--you take anything you like. Sh'd never
have got in without you. [Closing his eyes.] You're a Tory--you're a
Tory Socialist. I'm Liberal myself--have a drink--I 'm an excel'nt chap.
[His head drops back. He, smiling, falls asleep, and JONES stands
looking at him; then, snatching up JACK's glass, he drinks it off. He
picks the reticule from off JACK'S shirt-front, holds it to the light, and
smells at it.]
JONES. Been on the tiles and brought 'ome some of yer cat's fur. [He
stuffs it into JACK's breast pocket.]
JACK. [Murmuring.] I 've scored you off! You cat!
[JONES looks around him furtively; he pours out whisky and drinks it.
From the silver box he takes a cigarette, puffs at it, and drinks more
whisky. There is no sobriety left in him.]
JONES. Fat lot o' things they've got 'ere! [He sees the crimson purse
lying on the floor.] More cat's fur. Puss, puss! [He fingers it, drops it on
the tray, and looks at JACK.] Calf! Fat calf! [He sees his own

presentment