The Silver Box | Page 7

don't turn up. Suspicion's no
business of ours. I set my mind against it.
The curtain falls.

The curtain rises again at once.

SCENE III
BARTHWICK and MRS. BARTHWICK are seated at the breakfast
table. He is a man between fifty and sixty; quietly important, with a
bald forehead, and pince-nez, and the "Times" in his hand. She is a lady
of nearly fifty, well dressed, with greyish hair, good features, and a
decided manner. They face each other.
BARTHWICK. [From behind his paper.] The Labour man has got in at
the by-election for Barnside, my dear.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Another Labour? I can't think what on earth the
country is about.
BARTHWICK. I predicted it. It's not a matter of vast importance.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Not? How can you take it so calmly, John? To
me it's simply outrageous. And there you sit, you Liberals, and pretend
to encourage these people!
BARTHWICK. [Frowning.] The representation of all parties is
necessary for any proper reform, for any proper social policy.
MRS. BARTHWICK. I've no patience with your talk of reform--all that
nonsense about social policy. We know perfectly well what it is they
want; they want things for themselves. Those Socialists and Labour
men are an absolutely selfish set of people. They have no sense of
patriotism, like the upper classes; they simply want what we've got.
BARTHWICK. Want what we've got! [He stares into space.] My dear,
what are you talking about? [With a contortion.] I 'm no alarmist.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Cream? Quite uneducated men! Wait until they
begin to tax our investments. I 'm convinced that when they once get a
chance they will tax everything--they 've no feeling for the country.
You Liberals and Conservatives, you 're all alike; you don't see an inch
before your noses. You've no imagination, not a scrap of imagination
between you. You ought to join hands and nip it in the bud.
BARTHWICK. You 're talking nonsense! How is it possible for

Liberals and Conservatives to join hands, as you call it? That shows
how absurd it is for women----Why, the very essence of a Liberal is to
trust in the people!
MRS. BARTHWICK. Now, John, eat your breakfast. As if there were
any real difference between you and the Conservatives. All the upper
classes have the same interests to protect, and the same principles.
[Calmly.] Oh! you're sitting upon a volcano, John.
BARTHWICK. What!
MRS. BARTHWICK. I read a letter in the paper yesterday. I forget the
man's name, but it made the whole thing perfectly clear. You don't look
things in the face.
BARTHWICK. Indeed! [Heavily.] I am a Liberal! Drop the subject,
please!
MRS. BARTHWICK. Toast? I quite agree with what this man says:
Education is simply ruining the lower classes. It unsettles them, and
that's the worst thing for us all. I see an enormous difference in the
manner of servants.
BARTHWICK, [With suspicious emphasis.] I welcome any change
that will lead to something better. [He opens a letter.] H'm! This is that
affair of Master Jack's again. "High Street, Oxford. Sir, We have
received Mr. John Barthwick, Senior's, draft for forty pounds!" Oh! the
letter's to him! "We now enclose the cheque you cashed with us, which,
as we stated in our previous letter, was not met on presentation at your
bank. We are, Sir, yours obediently, Moss and Sons, Tailors." H 'm!
[Staring at the cheque.] A pretty business altogether! The boy might
have been prosecuted.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Come, John, you know Jack did n't mean
anything; he only thought he was overdrawing. I still think his bank
ought to have cashed that cheque. They must know your position.
BARTHWICK. [Replacing in the envelope the letter and the cheque.]
Much good that would have done him in a court of law.
[He stops as JACK comes in, fastening his waistcoat and staunching a
razor cut upon his chin.]
JACK. [Sitting down between them, and speaking with an artificial
joviality.] Sorry I 'm late. [He looks lugubriously at the dishes.] Tea,
please, mother. Any letters for me? [BARTHWICK hands the letter to
him.] But look here, I say, this has been opened! I do wish you would

n't----
BARTHWICK. [Touching the envelope.] I suppose I 'm entitled to this
name.
JACK. [Sulkily.] Well, I can't help having your name, father! [He reads
the letter, and mutters.] Brutes!
BARTHWICK. [Eyeing him.] You don't deserve to be so well out of
that.
JACK. Haven't you ragged me enough, dad?
MRS. BARTHWICK. Yes, John, let Jack have his breakfast.
BARTHWICK. If you hadn't had me to come to, where would you
have been? It's the merest accident--suppose you had been the son of a
poor man or a clerk. Obtaining money with a cheque you knew your
bank could not meet.