by Unknown
COLONEL. ‘Do they call you that?’
COSMO. ‘Lord, no, they call me Grey.’
COLONEL. ‘And do you want me to call you Grey?’
COSMO, magnanimously, ‘No, I don’t expect that. But I thought that before people, you know, you needn’t call me anything. If you want to attract my attention you could just say “Hst!” — like that.’
COLONEL. ‘Right you are. But you won’t make your mother call you Hst.’
COSMO, sagaciously, ‘Oh no — of course women are different.’
COLONEL. ‘You’ll be very nice to her, Cosmo? She had to pinch and save more than I should have allowed — to be able to send you into the navy. We are poor people, you know.’
COSMO. ‘I’ve been planning how to be nice to her.’
COLONEL. ‘Good lad. Good lad.’
Cosmo remembers his conversation with Amy, and thoughtfully hides the ‘yellow flowers’ behind a photograph. This may be called one of his plans for being nice to mother.
COSMO. ‘You don’t have your medals here, father?’
COLONEL. ‘No, I don’t carry them about. But your mother does, the goose. They are not very grand ones, Cosmo.’
COSMO, true blue, ‘Yes, they are.’
An awkward silence falls. The Colonel has so much to say that he can only look it. He looks it so eloquently that Cosmo’s fears return. He summons the plan to his help.
‘I wonder what is in the evening papers. If you don’t mind, I’ll cut out and get one.’
Before he can cut out, however, Alice is in the room, the picture of distress. No wonder, for even we can hear the baby howling.
ALICE, tragically, ‘My baby. Robert, listen; that is how I affect her.’
Cosmo cowers unseen.
COLONEL. ‘No, no, darling, it isn’t you who have made her cry. She — she is teething. It’s her teeth, isn’t it?’ he barks at the nurse, who emerges looking not altogether woeful. ‘Say it’s her teeth, woman.’
NURSE, taking this as a reflection on her charge. ‘She had her teeth long ago.’
ALICE, the forlorn, ‘The better to bite me with.’
NURSE, complacently, ‘I don’t understand it. She is usually the best-tempered lamb — as you may see for yourself, sir.’
It is an imitation that the Colonel is eager to accept, but after one step toward the nursery he is true to Alice.
COLONEL. ‘I decline to see her. I refuse to have anything to do with her till she comes to a more reasonable frame of mind.’
The nurse retires, to convey possibly this ultimatum to her charge.
ALICE, in the noblest spirit of self-abnegation, ‘Go, Robert. Perhaps she — will like you better.’
COLONEL. ‘She’s a contemptible child.’
But that nursery door does draw him strongly. He finds himself getting nearer and nearer to it. ‘I’ll show her,’ with a happy pretence that his object is merely to enforce discipline. The forgotten Cosmo pops up again; the Colonel introduces him with a gesture and darts off to his baby.
ALICE, entranced, ‘My son!’
COSMO, forgetting all plans, ‘Mother!’ She envelops him in her arms, worshipping him, and he likes it.
ALICE. ‘Oh, Cosmo — how splendid you are.’
COSMO, soothingly, ‘That’s all right, mother.’
ALICE. ‘Say it again.’
COSMO. ‘That’s all right.’
ALICE. ‘No, the other word.’
COSMO. ‘Mother.’
ALICE. ‘Again.’
COSMO. ‘Mother — mother—’ When she has come to: ‘Are you better now?’
ALICE. ‘He is my son, and he is in uniform.’
COSMO, aware that allowances must be made, ‘Yes, I know.’
ALICE. ‘Are you glad to see your mother, Cosmo?’
COSMO. ‘Rather! Will you have some tea?’
ALICE. ‘No, no, I feel I can do nothing for the rest of my life but hug my glorious boy.’
COSMO. ‘Of course, I have my work.’
ALICE. ‘His work! Do the officers love you, Cosmo?’
COSMO, degraded, ‘Love me! I should think not.’
ALICE. ‘I should like to ask them all to come and stay with us.’
COSMO, appalled, ‘Great Scott, mother, you can’t do things like that.’
ALICE. ‘Can’t I? Are you very studious, Cosmo?’
COSMO, neatly, ‘My favourite authors are William Shakespeare and
William Milton. They are grand, don’t you think?’
ALICE. ‘I’m only a woman, you see; and I’m afraid they sometimes bore me, especially William Milton.’
COSMO, with relief, ‘Do they? Me, too.’
ALICE, on the verge of tears again, ‘But not half so much as I bore my baby.’
COSMO, anxious to help her, ‘What did you do to her?’
ALICE, appealingly, ‘I couldn’t help wanting to hold her in my arms, could I, Cosmo?’
COSMO, full of consideration, ‘No, of course you couldn’t.’ He reflects. ‘How did you take hold of her?’
ALICE. ‘I suppose in some clumsy way.’
COSMO. ‘Not like this, was it?’
ALICE, gloomily, ‘I dare say.’
COSMO. ‘You should have done it this way.’
He very kindly shows her how to carry a baby.
ALICE, with becoming humility, ‘Thank you, Cosmo.’
He does not observe the gleam in her eye, and is in the high good humour that comes to any man when any woman asks him to show her how to do anything.
COSMO. ‘If you like I’ll show you with a cushion. You see this’ — scoops it up—’is wrong; but this’ — he does a little sleight of hand—’is right. Another way is this, with their head hanging over your shoulder, and you holding on firmly to their legs. You wouldn’t think it was comfortable, but they like it.’
ALICE, adoring him. ‘I see, Cosmo.’ She practises diligently with the cushion. ‘First this way — then this.’
COSMO. ‘That’s first-class. It’s just a knack. You’ll soon pick it up.’
ALICE, practising on him instead of the cushion, ‘You darling boy!’
COSMO. ‘I think I hear a boy calling the evening papers.’
ALICE, clinging to him, ‘Don’t go. There can be nothing in the evening papers about what my boy thinks of his mother.’
COSMO. ‘Good lord, no.’ He thinks quickly. ‘You haven’t seen Amy yet. It isn’t fair of Amy. She should have been here to take some of it off me.’
ALICE. ‘Cosmo, you don’t mean that I bore you too!’
He is pained. It is now he who boldly encircles her. But his words, though well meant, are not so happy as his action. ‘I love you, mother; and I don’t think you’re so yellow.’
ALICE, the belle of many stations, ‘Yellow?’ Her brain reels. ‘Cosmo, do you think me plain?’
COSMO, gallantly, ‘No, I don’t. I’m not one of the kind who judge people by their looks. The soul, you know, is what I judge them by.’
ALICE. ‘Plain? Me.’
COSMO, the comforter, ‘Of course it’s all right for girls to bother about being pretty.’ He lures her away from the subject. ‘I can tell you a funny thing about that. We had theatricals at Osborne one night, and we played a thing called “The Royal Boots.”’
ALICE, clapping her hands, ‘I played in that, too, last year.’
COSMO. ‘You?’
ALICE. ‘Yes. Why shouldn’t I?’
COSMO. ‘But we did it for fun.’
ALICE. ‘So did we.’
COSMO, his views on the universe crumbling, ‘You still like fun?’
ALICE. ‘Take care, Cosmo.’
COSMO. ‘But you’re our mother.’
ALICE. ‘Mustn’t mothers have fun?
COSMO, heavily, ‘Must they? I see. You had played the dowager.’
ALICE. ‘No, I didn’t. I played the girl in the Wellington boots.’
COSMO, blinking, ‘Mother, I played the gi
rl in the Wellington boots.’
ALICE, happily, ‘My son — this ought to bring us closer together.’
COSMO, who has not yet learned to leave well alone, ‘But the reason I did it was that we were all boys. Were there no young ladies where you did it, mother?’
ALICE. ‘Cosmo.’ She is not a tamed mother yet, and in sudden wrath she flips his face with her hand. He accepts it as a smack. The Colonel foolishly chooses this moment to make his return. He is in high good-humour, and does not observe that two of his nearest relatives are glaring at each other.
COLONEL, purring offensively, ‘It’s all right now, Alice; she took to me at once.’
ALICE, tartly, ‘Oh, did she!’
COLONEL. ‘Gurgled at me — pulled my moustache.’
ALICE. ‘I hope you got on with our dear son as well.’
COLONEL. ‘Isn’t he a fine fellow.’
ALICE. ‘I have just been smacking his face.’ She sits down and weeps, while her son stands haughtily at attention.
COLONEL, with a groan, ‘Hst, I think you had better go and get that evening paper.’
Cosmo departs with his flag flying, and the bewildered husband seeks enlightenment.
‘Smacked his face. But why, Alice?’
ALICE. ‘He infuriated me.’
COLONEL. ‘He seems such a good boy.’
ALICE, the lowly, ‘No doubt he is. It must be very trying to have me for a mother.’
COLONEL. ‘Perhaps you were too demonstrative?’
ALICE. ‘I daresay. A woman he doesn’t know! No wonder I disgusted him.’
COLONEL. ‘I can’t make it out.’
ALICE, abjectly, ‘It’s quite simple. He saw through me at once; so did baby.’
The Colonel flings up his hands. He hears whisperings outside the door. He peeps and returns excitedly.
COLONEL. ‘Alice, there’s a girl there with Cosmo.’
ALICE, on her feet, with a cry, ‘Amy.’
COLONEL, trembling, ‘I suppose so.’
ALICE, gripping him, ‘Robert, if she doesn’t love me I shall die.’
COLONEL. ‘She will, she will.’ But he has grown nervous. ‘Don’t be too demonstrative, dearest.’
ALICE. ‘I shall try to be cold. Oh, Amy, love me.’
Amy comes, her hair up, and is at once in her father’s arms. Then she wants to leap into the arms of the mother who craves for her. But Alice is afraid of being too demonstrative, and restrains herself. She presses Amy’s hands only.
ALICE. ‘It is you, Amy. How are you, dear?’ She ventures at last to kiss her. ‘It is a great pleasure to your father and me to see you again.’
AMY, damped, ‘Thank you, mother —— Of course I have been looking forward to this meeting very much also.’
ALICE, shuddering, ‘It is very sweet of you to say so.’
‘Oh how cold,’ they are both thinking, while the Colonel regards them uncomfortably. Amy turns to him. She knows already that there is safe harbourage there.
AMY. ‘Would you have known me, father?’
COLONEL. ‘I wonder. She’s not like you, Alice?’
ALICE. ‘No. I used to be demonstrative, Amy — —’
AMY, eagerly, ‘Were you?’
ALICE, hurriedly, ‘Oh, I grew out of it long ago.’
AMY, disappointed but sympathetic, ‘The wear and tear of life.’
ALICE, wincing, ‘No doubt.’
AMY, making conversation, ‘You have seen Cosmo?’
ALICE. ‘Yes.’
AMY, with pardonable curiosity, ‘What did you think of him?’
ALICE. ‘He — seemed a nice boy — —’
AMY, hurt, ‘And baby?’
ALICE. ‘Yes — oh yes.’
AMY. ‘Isn’t she fat?’
ALICE. ‘Is she?’
The nurse’s head intrudes.
NURSE. ‘If you please, sir — I think baby wants you again.’
The Colonel’s face exudes complacency, but he has the grace to falter.
COLONEL. ‘What do you think, Alice?’
ALICE, broken under the blow, ‘By all means go.’
COLONEL. ‘Won’t you come also? Perhaps if I am with you—’
ALICE, after giving him an annihilating look, ‘No, I — I had quite a long time with her.’
The Colonel tiptoes off to his babe with a countenance of foolish rapture; and mother and daughter are alone.
AMY, wishing her father would come back, ‘You can’t have been very long with baby, mother.’
ALICE. ‘Quite long enough.’
AMY. ‘Oh.’ Some seconds elapse before she can speak again. ‘You will have some tea, won’t you?’
ALICE. ‘Thank you, dear.’ They sit down to a chilly meal.
AMY, merely a hostess, ‘Both milk and sugar.’
ALICE, merely a guest, ‘No sugar.’
AMY. ‘I hope you will like the house, mother.’
ALICE. ‘I am sure you have chosen wisely. I see you are artistic.’
AMY. ‘The decoration isn’t finished. I haven’t quite decided what this room is to be like yet.’
ALICE. ‘One never can tell.’
AMY, making conversation, ‘Did you notice that there is a circular drive to the house?’
ALICE. ‘No, I didn’t notice.’
AMY. ‘That would be because the cab filled it; but you can see it if you are walking.’
ALICE. ‘I shall look out for it.’ Grown desperate, ‘Amy, have you nothing more important to say to me?’
AMY, faltering, ‘You mean — the keys? Here they are; all with labels on them. And here are the tradesmen’s books. They are all paid up to Wednesday.’ She sadly lets them go. They lie disregarded in her mother’s lap.
ALICE. ‘Is there nothing else?’
AMY, with a flash of pride. ‘Perhaps you have noticed that my hair is up?’
ALICE. ‘It so took me aback, Amy, when you came into the room. How long have you had it up?’
AMY, with large eyes, ‘Not very long. I — I began only to-day.’
ALICE, imploringly, ‘Dear, put it down again. You are not grown up.’
AMY, almost sternly, ‘I feel I am a woman now.’
ALICE, abject, ‘A woman — you? Am I never to know my daughter as a girl!’
AMY. ‘You were married before you were eighteen.’
ALICE. ‘Ah, but I had no mother. And even at that age I knew the world.’
AMY, smiling sadly, ‘Oh, mother, not so well as I know it.’
ALICE, sharply, ‘What can you know of the world?’
AMY, shuddering, ‘More I hope, mother, than you will ever know.’
ALICE, alarmed, ‘My child!’ Seizing her: ‘Amy, tell me what you know.’
AMY. ‘Don’t ask me, please. I have sworn not to talk of it.’
ALICE. ‘Sworn? To whom?’
AMY. ‘To another.’
Alice, with a sinking, pounces on her daughter’s engagement finger; but it is unadorned.
ALICE. ‘Tell me, Amy, who is that other?’
AMY, bravely, ‘It is our secret.’
ALICE. ‘Amy, I beg you—’
AMY, a heroic figure, ‘Dear mother, I am so sorry I must decline.’
ALICE. ‘You defy me.’ She takes hold of her daughter’s shoulders. ‘Amy, you drive me frantic. If you don’t tell me at once I shall insist on your father — . Oh, you—’
It is not to be denied that she is shaking Amy when the Colonel once more intrudes.
COLONEL, aghast, ‘Good heavens, Alice, again! Amy, what does this mean?’
AMY, as she runs, insulted and in tears, from the room, ‘It means, father, that I love you very much.’
COLONEL, badgered, ‘Won’t you explain, Alice?’
