Complete Works of J. M. Barrie

by Unknown

  Robert. Quite.

  (Mr. Devizes rings.)

  Mr. Devizes. By the way, we don’t know the lady’s name.

  Robert. Observe me finding it out.

  Mr. Devizes. Is she married or single?

  Robert. I’ll know at a glance. And mark me, if she is married it is our nervous gentleman who has come between her and her husband; but if she is single it is little Wet Face who has come between him and his wife.

  Mr. Devizes. A Daniel!

  (A young man and woman are shown in: very devoted to each other, though Robert does not know it. Yet it is the one thing obvious about them; more obvious than his cheap suit, which she presses carefully beneath the mattress every night, or than the strength of his boyish face. Thinking of him as he then was by the light of subsequent events one wonders whether if he had come alone his face might have revealed something disquieting which was not there while she was by. Probably not; it was certainly already there, but had not yet reached the surface. With her, too, though she is to be what is called changed before we see them again, all seems serene; no warning signals; nothing in the way of their happiness in each other but this alarming visit to a lawyer’s office. The stage direction might be ‘Enter two lovers.’ He is scarcely the less nervous of the two, but he enters stoutly in front of her as if to receive the first charge. She has probably nodded valiantly to him outside the door, where she let go his hand.)

  Robert (master of the situation). Come in, Mr. Ross (and he bows reassuringly to the lady). My partner — indeed my father. (Mr. Devizes bows but remains in the background.)

  Philip (with a gulp). You got my letter?

  Robert. Yes — yes.

  Philip. I gave you the details in it.

  Robert. Yes, I have them all in my head. (Cleverly) You will sit down Miss — I don’t think I caught the name.

  (As much as to say, ‘You see, father, I spotted that she was single at once.’)

  Mr. Devizes (who has also formed his opinion). You didn’t ask for it, Robert.

  Robert (airily). Miss — ?

  Philip. This is Mrs. Ross, my wife.

  (Robert is a little taken aback, and has a conviction that his father is smiling.)

  Robert. Ah yes, of course; sit down, please, Mrs. Ross.

  (She sits as if this made matters rather worse.)

  Philip (standing guard by her side). My wife is a little agitated.

  Robert. Naturally. (He tries a ‘feeler.’) These affairs — very painful at the time — but one gradually forgets.

  Emily (with large eyes). That is what Mr. Ross says, but somehow I can’t help — (the eyes fill). You see, we have been married only four months.

  Robert. Ah — that does make it — yes, certainly. (He becomes the wife’s champion, and frowns on Philip.)

  Philip. I suppose the sum seems very small to you?

  Robert (serenely). I confess that is the impression it makes on me.

  Philip. I wish it was more.

  Robert (at a venture). You are sure you can’t make it more?

  Philip. How can I?

  Robert. Ha!

  Emily (with sudden spirit). I think it’s a great deal.

  Philip. Mrs. Ross is so nice about it.

  Robert (taking a strong line). I think so. But she must not be taken advantage of. And of course we shall have something to say as to the amount.

  Philip (blankly). In what way? There it is.

  Robert (guardedly). Hum. Yes, in a sense.

  Emily (breaking down). Oh dear!

  Robert (more determined than ever to do his best for this wronged woman). I am very sorry, Mrs. Ross. (Sternly) I hope, sir, you realise that the mere publicity to a sensitive woman ——

  Philip. Publicity?

  Robert (feeling that he has got him on the run). Of course for her sake we shall try to arrange things so that the names do not appear. Still ——

  Philip. The names?

  (By this time Emily is in tears.)

  Emily. I can’t help it. I love him so.

  Robert (still benighted). Enough to forgive him? (Seeing himself suddenly as a mediator) Mrs. Ross, is it too late to patch things up?

  Philip (now in flame). What do you mean, sir?

  Mr. Devizes (who has been quietly enjoying himself). Yes, Robert, what do you mean precisely?

  Robert. Really I — (he tries brow-beating) I must tell you at once, Mr. Ross, that unless a client gives us his fullest confidence we cannot undertake a case of this kind.

  Philip. A case of what kind, sir? If you are implying anything against my good name ——

  Robert. On your honour, sir, is there nothing against it?

  Philip. I know of nothing, sir.

  Emily. Anything against my husband, Mr. Devizes! He is an angel.

  Robert (suddenly seeing that little Wet Face must be the culprit). Then it is you!

  Emily. Oh, sir, what is me?

  Philip. Answer that, sir.

  Robert. Yes, Mr. Ross, I will. (But he finds he cannot.) On second thoughts I decline. I cannot believe it has been all this lady’s fault, and I decline to have anything to do with such a painful case.

  Mr. Devizes (promptly). Then I will take it up.

  Philip (not to be placated). I think your son has insulted me.

  Emily. Philip, come away.

  Mr. Devizes. One moment, please. As I did not see your letter, may I ask Mr. Ross what is your business with us?

  Philip. I called to ask whether you would be so good as to draw up my will.

  Robert (blankly). Your will! Is that all?

  Philip. Certainly.

  Mr. Devizes. Now we know, Robert.

  Robert. But Mrs. Ross’s agitation?

  Philip (taking her hand). She feels that to make my will brings my death nearer.

  Robert. So that’s it!

  Philip. It was all in the letter.

  Mr. Devizes (coyly). Anything to say, Robert?

  Robert. Most — ah — extremely — (He has an inspiration.) But even now I’m puzzled. You are Edgar Charles Ross?

  Philip. No, Philip Ross.

  Robert (brazenly). Philip Ross? We have made an odd mistake, father. (There is a twinkle in Mr. Devizes’s eye. He watches interestedly to see how his son is to emerge from the mess.) The fact is, Mrs. Ross, we are expecting to-day a Mr. Edgar Charles Ross on a matter — well — of a kind — Ah me. (With fitting gravity) His wife, in short.

  Emily (who has not read the newspapers in vain). How awful. How sad.

  Robert. Sad indeed. You will quite understand that professional etiquette prevents my saying one word more.

  Philip. Yes, of course — we have no desire — But I did write.

  Robert. Assuredly. But about a will. That is my father’s department. No doubt you recall the letter now, father?

  Mr. Devizes (who if he won’t hinder won’t help). I can’t say I do.

  Robert (unabashed). Odd. You must have overlooked it.

  Mr. Devizes. Ha. At all events, Mr. Ross, I am quite at your service now.

  Philip. Thank you.

  Robert (still ready to sacrifice himself on the call of duty). You don’t need me any more, father?

  Mr. Devizes. No, Robert; many thanks. You run off to your club now and have a bit of lunch. You must be tired. Send Surtees in to me. (To his clients) My son had his first case to-day.

  Philip (politely). I hope successfully.

  Mr. Devizes. Not so bad. He rather bungled it at first, but he got out of a hole rather cleverly. I think you’ll make a lawyer yet, Robert.

  Robert. Thank you, father. (He goes jauntily, with a flower in his buttonhole.)

  Mr. Devizes. Now, Mr. Ross.

  (The young wife’s hand goes out for comfort and finds Philip’s waiting for it.)

  Philip. What I want myself is that the will should all go into one sentence, ‘I leave everything of which I die possessed to my beloved wife.’

  Mr. Devizes (thawing to the romance of this y
oung couple). Well, there have been many worse wills than that, sir.

  (Emily is emotional.)

  Philip. Don’t give way, Emily.

  Emily. It was those words, ‘of which I die possessed.’ (Imploring) Surely he doesn’t need to say that — please, Mr. Devizes?

  Mr. Devizes. Certainly not. I am confident I can draw up the will without mentioning death at all.

  Emily (huskily). Oh, thank you.

  Mr. Devizes. At the same time, of course, in a legal document in which the widow is the sole ——

  (Emily again needs attention.)

  Philip (reproachfully). What was the need of saying ‘widow’?

  Mr. Devizes. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ross. I unreservedly withdraw the word ‘widow.’ Forgive a stupid old solicitor. (She smiles gratefully through her tears. Surtees comes in.) Surtees, just take a few notes, please. (Surtees sits in the background and takes notes.) The facts of the case as I understand, Mrs. Ross, are these: Your husband — (Quickly) who is in the prime of health — but knows life to be uncertain ——

  Emily. Oh!

  Mr. Devizes. — though usually, as we learn from holy script itself, it lasts seven times ten years — and believing that he will in all probability live the allotted span, nevertheless, because of his love of you, thinks it judicious to go through the form — it is a mere form — of making a will.

  Emily (fervently). Oh, thank you.

  Mr. Devizes. Any details, Mr. Ross?

  Philip. I am an orphan. I live at Belvedere, 14 Tulphin Road, Hammersmith.

  Emily (to whom the address has a seductive sound). We live there.

  Philip. And I am a clerk in the employ of Curar and Gow, the foreign coaling agents.

  Mr. Devizes. Yes, yes. Any private income?

  (They cannot help sniggering a little at the quaint question.)

  Philip. Oh no!

  Mr. Devizes. I see it will be quite a brief will.

  Philip (to whom the remark sounds scarcely worthy of a great occasion). My income is a biggish one.

  Mr. Devizes. Yes?

  Emily (important). He has £170 a year.

  Mr. Devizes. Ah.

  Philip. I began at £60. But it is going up, Mr. Devizes, by leaps and bounds. Another £15 this year.

  Mr. Devizes. Good.

  Philip (darkly). I have a certain ambition.

  Emily (eagerly). Tell him, Philip.

  Philip (with a big breath). We have made up our minds to come to £365 a year before I — retire.

  Emily. That is a pound a day.

  Mr. Devizes (smiling sympathetically on them). So it is. My best wishes.

  Philip. Thank you. Of course the furnishing took a good deal.

  Mr. Devizes. It would.

  Emily. He insisted on my having the very best. (She ceases. She is probably thinking of her superb spare bedroom.)

  Philip. But we are not a penny in debt; and I have £200 saved.

  Mr. Devizes. I think you have made a brave beginning.

  Emily. They have the highest opinion of him in the office.

  Philip. Then I am insured for £500.

  Mr. Devizes. I am glad to hear that.

  Philip. Of course I would like to leave her a house in Kensington and a carriage and pair.

  Mr. Devizes. Who knows, perhaps you will.

  Emily. Oh!

  Mr. Devizes. Forgive me.

  Emily. What would houses and horses be to me without him.

  Mr. Devizes (soothingly). Quite so. What I take Mr. Ross to mean is that when he dies — if he ever should die — everything is to go to his — his spouse.

  Philip (dogged). Yes.

  Emily (dogged). No.

  Philip (sighing). This is the only difference we have ever had. Mrs. Ross insists on certain bequests. You see, I have two cousins, ladies, not well off, whom I have been in the way of helping a little. But in my will, how can I?

  Mr. Devizes. You must think first of your wife.

  Philip. But she insists on my leaving £50 to each of them. (He looks appealingly to his wife.)

  Emily (grandly). £100.

  Philip. £50.

  Emily. Dear, £100.

  Mr. Devizes. Let us say £75.

  Philip (reluctantly). Very well.

  Emily. No, £100.

  Philip. She’ll have to get her way. Here are their names and addresses.

  Mr. Devizes. Anything else?

  Philip (hurriedly). No.

  Emily. The convalescent home, dear. He was in it a year ago, and they were so kind.

  Philip. Yes, but ——

  Emily. £10. (He has to yield, with a reproachful, admiring look.)

  Mr. Devizes. Then if that is all, I won’t detain you. If you look in tomorrow, Mr. Ross, about this time, we shall have everything ready for you.

  (Their faces fall.)

  Emily. Oh, Mr. Devizes, if only it could all be drawn up now, and done with.

  Philip. You see, sir, we are screwed up to it to-day.

  (‘Our fate is in your hands,’ they might be saying, and the lawyer smiles to find himself such a power.)

  Mr. Devizes (looking at his watch). Well, it certainly need not take long. You go out and have lunch somewhere, and then come back.

  Emily. Oh, don’t ask me to eat.

  Philip. We are too excited.

  Emily. Please may we just walk about the street?

  Mr. Devizes (smiling). Of course you may, you ridiculous young wife.

  Emily. I know it’s ridiculous of me, but I am so fond of him.

  Mr. Devizes. Yes, it is ridiculous. (Kindly, and with almost a warning note) But don’t change; especially if you get on in the world, Mr. Ross.

  Philip. No fear!

  Emily (backing from the will, which may now be said to be in existence). And please don’t give us a copy of it to keep. I would rather not have it in the house.

  Mr. Devizes (nodding reassuringly). In an hour’s time. (They go, and the lawyer has his lunch, which is simpler than Robert’s: a sandwich and a glass of wine. He speaks as he eats.) You will get that ready, Surtees. Here are the names and addresses he left. (Cheerily) A nice couple.

  Surtees (who is hearing another voice). Yes, sir.

  Mr. Devizes (unbending). Little romance of its kind. Makes one feel quite gay.

  Surtees. Yes, sir.

  Mr. Devizes (struck perhaps by the deadness of his voice). You don’t look very gay, Surtees.

  Surtees. I’m sorry, sir. We can’t all be gay. (He is going out without looking at his employer.) I’ll see to this, sir.

  Mr. Devizes. Stop a minute. Is there anything wrong? (Surtees has difficulty in answering, and Mr. Devizes goes to him kindly.) Not worrying over that matter we spoke about? (Surtees inclines his head.) Is the pain worse?

  Surtees. It’s no great pain, sir.

  Mr. Devizes (uncomfortably). I’m sure it’s not — what you fear. Any specialist would tell you so.

  Surtees (without looking up). I have been to one, sir — yesterday.

  Mr. Devizes. Well?

  Surtees. It’s — that, sir.

  Mr. Devizes. He couldn’t be sure.

  Surtees. Yes, sir.

  Mr. Devizes. An operation ——

  Surtees. Too late, he said, for that. If I had been operated on long ago there might have been a chance.

  Mr. Devizes. But you didn’t have it long ago.

  Surtees. Not to my knowledge, sir; but he says it was there all the same, always in me, a black spot, not so big as a pin’s head, but waiting to spread and destroy me in the fulness of time. All the rest of me as sound as a bell. (That is the voice that Surtees has been hearing.)

  Mr. Devizes (helpless). It seems damnably unfair.

  Surtees (humbly). I don’t know, sir. He says there’s a spot of that kind in pretty nigh all of us, and if we don’t look out it does for us in the end.