by Unknown
David.
DAVID. I have a proposition to put before Mr. Shand, and women are out of place in business transactions.
[The needles continue to click.]
ALICK [sighing]. We’ll have to let her bide, David.
DAVID [sternly]. Woman. [But even this does not budge her.] Very well then, sit there, but don’t interfere, mind. Mr. Shand, we’re willing, the three of us, to lay out L300 on your education if —
JOHN. Take care.
DAVID [slowly, which is not his wont]. On condition that five years from now, Maggie Wylie, if still unmarried, can claim to marry you, should such be her wish; the thing to be perfectly open on her side, but you to be strictly tied down.
JAMES [enlightened]. So, so.
DAVID [resuming his smart manner]. Now, what have you to say? Decide.
JOHN [after a pause]. I regret to say —
MAGGIE. It doesn’t matter what he regrets to say, because I decide against it. And I think it was very ill-done of you to make any such proposal.
DAVID [without looking at her]. Quiet, Maggie.
JOHN [looking at her]. I must say, Miss Maggie, I don’t see what reasons YOU can have for being so set against it.
MAGGIE. If you would grow a beard, Mr. Shand, the reasons wouldn’t be quite so obvious.
JOHN. I’ll never grow a beard.
MAGGIE. Then you’re done for at the start.
ALICK. Come, come.
MAGGIE. Seeing I have refused the young man —
JOHN. Refused!
DAVID. That’s no reason why we shouldn’t have his friendly opinion.
Your objections, Mr. Shand?
JOHN. Simply, it’s a one-sided bargain. I admit I’m no catch at present; but what could a man of my abilities not soar to with three hundred pounds? Something far above what she could aspire to.
MAGGIE. Oh, indeed!
DAVID. The position is that without the three hundred you can’t soar.
JOHN. You have me there.
MAGGIE. Yes, but —
ALICK. You see YOU’RE safeguarded, Maggie; you don’t need to take him unless you like, but he has to take you.
JOHN. That’s an unfair arrangement also.
MAGGIE. I wouldn’t dream of it without that condition.
JOHN. Then you ARE thinking of it?
MAGGIE. Poof!
DAVID. It’s a good arrangement for you, Mr. Shand. The chances are you’ll never have to go on with it, for in all probability she’ll marry soon.
JAMES. She’s tremendous run after.
JOHN. Even if that’s true, it’s just keeping me in reserve in case she misses doing better.
DAVID [relieved]. That’s the situation in a nutshell.
JOHN. Another thing. Supposing I was to get fond of her?
ALICK [wistfully]. It’s very likely.
JOHN. Yes, and then suppose she was to give me the go-by?
DAVID. You have to risk that.
JOHN. Or take it the other way. Supposing as I got to know her I
COULD NOT endure her?
DAVID [suavely]. You have both to take risks.
JAMES [less suavely]. What you need, John Shand, is a clout on the head.
JOHN. Three hundred pounds is no great sum.
DAVID. You can take it or leave it.
ALICK. No great sum for a student studying for the ministry!
JOHN. Do you think that with that amount of money I would stop short at being a minister?
DAVID. That’s how I like to hear you speak. A young Scotsman of your
ability let loose upon the world with L300, what could he not do?
It’s almost appalling to think of; especially if he went among the
English.
JOHN. What do you think, Miss Maggie?
MAGGIE [who is knitting]. I have no thoughts on the subject either way.
JOHN [after looking her over]. What’s her age? She looks young, but they say it’s the curls that does it.
DAVID [rather happily]. She’s one of those women who are eternally young.
JOHN. I can’t take that for an answer.
DAVID. She’s twentyfive.
JOHN. I’m just twenty-one.
JAMES. I read in a book that about four years’ difference in the ages is the ideal thing. [As usual he is disregarded.]
DAVID. Well, Mr. Shand?
JOHN [where is his mother?]. I’m willing if she’s willing.
DAVID. Maggie?
MAGGIE. There can be no ‘if’ about it. It must be an offer.
JOHN. A Shand give a Wylie such a chance to humiliate him? Never.
MAGGIE. Then all is off.
DAVID. Come, come, Mr. Shand, it’s just a form.
JOHN [reluctantly]. Miss Maggie, will you?
MAGGIE [doggedly]. Is it an offer?
JOHN [dourly]. Yes.
MAGGIE [rising]. Before I answer I want first to give you a chance of drawing back.
DAVID. Maggie.
MAGGIE [bravely]. When they said that I have been run after they were misleading you. I’m without charm; nobody has ever been after me.
JOHN. Oho!
ALICK. They will be yet.
JOHN [the innocent]. It shows at least that you haven’t been after them.
[His hosts exchange a selfconscious glance.]
MAGGIE. One thing more; David said I’m twentyfive, I’m twenty-six.
JOHN. Aha!
MAGGIE. Now be practical. Do you withdraw from the bargain, or do you not?
JOHN [on reflection]. It’s a bargain.
MAGGIE. Then so be it.
DAVID [hurriedly]. And that’s settled. Did you say you would take it hot, Mr. Shand?
JOHN. I think I’ll take it neat.
[The others decide to take it hot, and there is some careful business here with the toddy ladles.]
ALICK. Here’s to you, and your career.
JOHN. Thank you. To you, Miss Maggie. Had we not better draw up a legal document? Lawyer Crosbie could do it on the quiet.
DAVID. Should we do that, or should we just trust to one another’s honour?
ALICK [gallantly]. Let Maggie decide.
MAGGIE. I think we would better have a legal document.
DAVID. We’ll have it drawn up tomorrow. I was thinking the best way would be for to pay the money in five yearly instalments.
JOHN. I was thinking, better bank the whole sum in my name at once.
ALICK. I think David’s plan’s the best.
JOHN. I think not. Of course if it’s not convenient to you —
DAVID [touched to the quick]. It’s perfectly convenient. What do you say, Maggie?
MAGGIE. I agree with John.
DAVID [with an odd feeling that MAGGIE is now on the other side].
Very well.
JOHN. Then as that’s settled I think I’ll be stepping. [He is putting his papers back in the bag.]
ALICK [politely]. If you would like to sit on at your books —
JOHN. As I can come at any orra time now I think I’ll be stepping.
[MAGGIE helps him into his topcoat.]
MAGGIE. Have you a muffler, John?
JOHN. I have. [He gets it from his pocket.]
MAGGIE. You had better put it twice round. [She does this for him.]
DAVID. Well, goodnight to you, Mr. Shand.
ALICK. And good luck.
JOHN. Thank you. The same to you. And I’ll cry in at your office in the morning before the 6:20 is due.
DAVID. I’ll have the document ready for you. [There is the awkward pause that sometimes follows great events.] I think, Maggie, you might see Mr. Shand to the door.
MAGGIE. Certainly. [JOHN is going by the window.] This way, John.
[She takes him off by the more usual exit.]
DAVID. He’s a fine frank fellow; and you saw how cleverly he got the better of me about banking the money. [As the heads of the conspirators come gleefully together] I tell you, father, he has a grand bu
siness head.
ALICK. Lads, he’s canny. He’s cannier than any of us.
JAMES. Except maybe Maggie. He has no idea what a remarkable woman
Maggie is.
ALICK. Best he shouldn’t know. Men are nervous of remarkable women.
JAMES. She’s a long time in coming back.
DAVID [not quite comfortable]. It’s a good sign. H’sh. What sort of a night is it, Maggie?
MAGGIE. It’s a little blowy.
[She gets a large dustcloth which is lying folded on a shelf, and proceeds to spread it over the fine chair. The men exchange selfconscious glances.]
DAVID [stretching himself]. Yes — well, well, oh yes. It’s getting late. What is it with you, father?
ALICK. I’m ten forty-two.
JAMES. I’m ten-forty.
DAVID. Ten forty-two.
[They wind up their watches.]
MAGGIE. It’s high time we were bedded. [She puts her hands on their shoulders lovingly, which is the very thing they have been trying to avoid.] You’re very kind to me.
DAVID. Havers.
ALICK. Havers.
JAMES [but this does not matter]. Havers.
MAGGIE [a little dolefully]. I’m a sort of sorry for the young man,
David.
DAVID. Not at all. You’ll be the making of him. [She lifts the two volumes.] Are you taking the books to your bed, Maggie?
MAGGIE. Yes. I don’t want him to know things I don’t know myself.
[She departs with the books; and ALICK and DAVID, the villains, now want to get away from each other.]
ALICK. Yes — yes. Oh yes — ay, man — it is so — umpha. You’ll lift the big coals off, David.
[He wanders away to his spring mattress. DAVID removes the coals.]
JAMES [who would like to sit down and have an argy-bargy]. It’s a most romantical affair. [But he gets no answer.] I wonder how it’ll turn out? [No answer.] She’s queer, Maggie. I wonder how some clever writers has never noticed how queer women are. It’s my belief you could write a whole book about them. [DAVID remains obdurate.] It was very noble of her to tell him she’s twenty-six. [Muttering as he too wanders away.] But I thought she was twenty-seven.
[DAVID turns out the light.]
ACT II
[Six years have elapsed and John Shand’s great hour has come. Perhaps his great hour really lies ahead of him, perhaps he had it six years ago; it often passes us by in the night with such a faint call that we don’t even turn in our beds. But according to the trumpets this is John’s great hour; it is the hour for which he has long been working with his coat off; and now the coat is on again (broadcloth but ill-fitting), for there is no more to do but await results. He is standing for Parliament, and this is election night.
As the scene discloses itself you get, so to speak, one of John Shand’s posters in the face. Vote for Shand. Shand, Shand, Shand. Civil and Religious Liberty, Faith, Hope, Freedom. They are all fly-blown names for Shand. Have a placard about Shand, have a hundred placards about him, it is snowing Shand tonight in Glasgow; take the paste out of your eye, and you will see that we are in one of Shand’s committee rooms. It has been a hairdresser’s emporium, but Shand, Shand, Shand has swept through it like a wind, leaving nothing but the fixtures; why shave, why have your head doused in those basins when you can be brushed and scraped and washed up for ever by simply voting for Shand?
There are a few hard chairs for yelling Shand from, and then rushing away. There is an iron spiral staircase that once led to the ladies’ hairdressing apartments, but now leads to more Shand, Shand, Shand. A glass door at the back opens on to the shop proper, screaming Civil and Religious Liberty, Shand, as it opens, and beyond is the street crammed with still more Shand pro and con. Men in every sort of garb rush in and out, up and down the stair, shouting the magic word. Then there is a lull, and down the stair comes Maggie Wylie, decidedly overdressed in blue velvet and (let us get this over) less good-looking than ever. She raises her hands to heaven, she spins round like a little teetotum. To her from the street, suffering from a determination of the word Shand to the mouth, rush Alick and David. Alick is thinner (being older), David is stouter (being older), and they are both in tweeds and silk hats.]
MAGGIE. David — have they — is he? quick, quick! DAVID. There’s no news yet, no news. It’s terrible.
[The teetotum revolves more quickly.]
ALICK. For God’s sake, Maggie, sit down.
MAGGIE. I can’t, I can’t.
DAVID. Hold her down.
[They press her into a chair; JAMES darts in, stouter also. His necktie has gone; he will never again be able to attend a funeral in that hat.]
JAMES [wildly]. John Shand’s the man for you. John Shand’s the man for you. John Shand’s the man for you.
DAVID [clutching him]. Have you heard anything?
JAMES. Not a word.
ALICK. Look at her.
DAVID. Maggie [he goes on his knees beside her, pressing her to him in affectionate anxiety]. It was mad of him to dare.
MAGGIE. It was grand of him.
ALICK [moving about distraught]. Insane ambition.
MAGGIE. Glorious ambition.
DAVID. Maggie, Maggie, my lamb, best be prepared for the worst.
MAGGIE [husky]. I am prepared.
ALICK. Six weary years has she waited for this night.
MAGGIE. Six brave years has John toiled for this night.
JAMES. And you could have had him, Maggie, at the end of five. The document says five.
MAGGIE. Do you think I grudge not being married to him yet? Was I to hamper him till the fight was won?
DAVID [with wrinkled brows]. But if it’s lost?
[She can’t answer.]
ALICK [starting]. What’s that?
[The three listen at the door, the shouting dies down.]
DAVID. They’re terrible still; what can make them so still?
[JAMES spirits himself away. ALICK and DAVID blanch to hear MAGGIE speaking softly as if to JOHN.]
MAGGIE. Did you say you had lost, John? Of course you would lose the first time, dear John. Six years. Very well, we’ll begin another six tonight. You’ll win yet. [Fiercely] Never give in, John, never give in!
[The roar of the multitude breaks out again and comes rolling nearer.]
DAVID. I think he’s coming.
[JAMES is fired into the room like a squeezed onion.]
JAMES. He’s coming!
[They may go on speaking, but through the clang outside none could hear. The populace seems to be trying to take the committee room by assault. Out of the scrimmage a man emerges dishevelled and bursts into the room, closing the door behind him. It is JOHN SHAND in a five guinea suit, including the hat. There are other changes in him also, for he has been delving his way through loamy ground all those years. His right shoulder, which he used to raise to pound a path through the crowd, now remains permanently in that position. His mouth tends to close like a box. His eyes are tired, they need some one to pull the lids over them and send him to sleep for a week. But they are honest eyes still, and faithful, and could even light up his face at times with a smile, if the mouth would give a little help.]
JOHN [clinging to a chair that he may not fly straight to heaven].
I’m in; I’m elected. Majority two hundred and forty-four; I’m John
Shand, M.P.
[The crowd have the news by this time and their roar breaks the door open. JAMES is off at once to tell them that he is to be SHAND’S brother-in-law. A teardrop clings to ALICK’s nose; DAVID hits out playfully at JOHN, and JOHN in an ecstasy returns the blow.]
DAVID. Fling yourself at the door, father, and bar them out. Maggie, what keeps you so quiet now?
MAGGIE [weak in her limbs]. You’re sure you’re in, John?
JOHN. Majority 244. I’ve beaten the baronet. I’ve done it, Maggie, and not a soul to help me; I’ve done it alone. [His voice breaks; you could almost pick up the pieces.] I’m as
hoarse as a crow, and I have to address the Cowcaddens Club yet; David, pump some oxygen into me.
