The Skin Game | Page 5

atmosphere of the place is changing. It was a thousand pities he ever came here and discovered that clay. He's brought in the modern cutthroat spirit.
JILL. Cut our throat spirit, you mean. What's your definition of a gentleman, Dodo?
HILLCRIST. [Uneasily] Can't describe--only feel it.
JILL. Oh! Try!
HILLCRIST. Well--er--I suppose you might say--a man who keeps his form and doesn't let life scupper him out of his standards.
JILL. But suppose his standards are low?
HILLCRIST. [With some earnestness] I assume, of course, that he's honest and tolerant, gentle to the weak, and not self-seeking.
JILL. Ah! self-seeking? But aren't we all, Dodo? I am.
HILLCRIST. [With a smile] You!
JILL. [Scornfully] Oh! yes--too young to know.
HILLCRIST. Nobody knows till they're under pretty heavy fire, Jill.
JILL. Except, of course, mother.
HILLCRIST. How do you mean--mother?
JILL. Mother reminds me of England according to herself--always right whatever she does.
HILLCRIST. Ye-es. Your mother it perhaps--the perfect woman.
JILL. That's what I was saying. Now, no one could call you perfect, Dodo. Besides, you've got gout.
HILLCRIST. Yes; and I want Fellows. Ring that bell.
JILL. [Crossing to the bell] Shall I tell you my definition of a gentleman? A man who gives the Hornblower his due. [She rings the bell] And I think mother ought to call on them. Rolf says old Hornblower resents it fearfully that she's never made a sign to Chloe the three years she's been here.
HILLCRIST. I don't interfere with your mother in such matters. She may go and call on the devil himself if she likes.
JILL. I know you're ever so much better than she is.
HILLCRIST. That's respectful.
JILL. You do keep your prejudices out of your phiz. But mother literally looks down her nose. And she never forgives an "h." They'd get the "hell" from her if they took the "hinch."
HILLCRIST. Jill-your language!
JILL. Don't slime out of it, Dodo. I say, mother ought to call on the Hornblowers. [No answer.] Well?
HILLCRIST. My dear, I always let people have the last word. It makes them--feel funny. Ugh! My foot![Enter FELLOWS, Left.] Fellows, send into the village and get another bottle of this stuff.
JILL. I'll go, darling.
[She blow him a kiss, and goes out at the window.]
HILLCRIST. And tell cook I've got to go on slops. This foot's worse.
FELLOWS. [Sympathetic] Indeed, sir.
HILLCRIST. My third go this year, Fellows.
FELLOWS. Very annoying, sir.
HILLCRIST. Ye-es. Ever had it?
FELLOWS. I fancy I have had a twinge, sir.
HILLCRIST. [Brightening] Have you? Where?
FELLOWS. In my cork wrist, sir.
HILLCRIST. Your what?
FELLOWS. The wrist I draw corks with.
HILLCRIST. [With a cackle] You'd have had more than a twinge if you'd lived with my father. H'm!
FELLOWS. Excuse me, sir--Vichy water corks, in my experience, are worse than any wine.
HILLCRIST. [Ironically] Ah! The country's not what it was, is it, Fellows?
FELLOWS. Getting very new, sir.
HILLCRIST. [Feelingly] You're right. Has Dawker come?
FELLOWS. Not yet, sir. The Jackmans would like to see you, sir.
HILLCRIST. What about?
FELLOWS. I don't know, sir.
HILLCRIST. Well, show them in.
FELLOWS. [Going] Yes, sir.
[HILLCRIST turns his swivel chair round. The JACKMANS come in. He, a big fellow about fifty, in a labourer's dress, with eyes which have more in then than his tongue can express; she, a little woman with a worn face, a bright, quick glance, and a tongue to match.]
HILLCRIST. Good morning, Mrs. Jackman! Morning, Jackman! Haven't seen you for a long time. What can I do?
[He draws in foot, and breath, with a sharp hiss.]
HILLCRIST. [In a down-hearted voice] We've had notice to quit, sir.
HILLCRIST. [With emphasis] What!
JACKMAN. Got to be out this week.
MRS. J. Yes, sir, indeed.
HILLCRIST. Well, but when I sold Longmeadow and the cottages, it was on the express understanding that there was to be no disturbance of tenancies:
MRS. J. Yes, sir; but we've all got to go. Mrs. 'Arvey, and the Drews, an' us, and there isn't another cottage to be had anywhere in Deepwater.
HILLCRIST. I know; I want one for my cowman. This won't do at all. Where do you get it from?
JACKMAN. Mr. 'Ornblower, 'imself, air. Just an hour ago. He come round and said: "I'm sorry; I want the cottages, and you've got to clear."
MRS. J. [Bitterly] He's no gentleman, sir; he put it so brisk. We been there thirty years, and now we don't know what to do. So I hope you'll excuse us coming round, sir.
HILLCRIST. I should think so, indeed! H'm! [He rises and limps across to the fireplace on his stick. To himself] The cloven hoof. By George! this is a breach of faith. I'll write to him, Jackman. Confound it! I'd certainly never have sold if I'd known he was going to do this.
MRS. J. No, sir, I'm sure, sir. They do say it's to do with the potteries. He wants the cottages for his workmen.
HILLCRIST. [Sharply] That's all very well, but he shouldn't have led me to suppose that he would make no change.
JACKMAN.