by Oriel Gray
JENNY: What did you say?
CHRISTY [bemused] What did I say?
JENNY: [almost shaking him] About Ben!
CHRISTY: Only that he’s over at the Royal, filling himself up, with whisky—[A private grievance] and us slaving here!
JENNY: Christy, what will I do? Should I go over there and get him out?
CHRISTY: [appalled] By Grundy, Jenny, you can’t do that. Some of them drinkers are pretty far gone!
JENNY: [contemptuously] I won’t be shocked.
CHRISTY: No… but, by God, they will be! You can’t do that, Jenny…
JENNY has moved across the window and is looking out.
JENNY: But we can’t just leave him there—in that place!
CHRISTY: Oh, the Royal’s not a bad pub.
Looks around as BEN comes in, rather drunk and defiant. He jerks his head at CHRISTY in direction of stairs and CHRISTY, glad to escape, goes.
[As he vanishes] Ten minutes you said…
BEN: Looking for someone, Jenny?
JENNY: [whirling around] Ben! What have you been doing?
BEN: Didn’t anyone in Koolgalla find time to tell you—or were they all hurrying to tell Father? I’ve been drinking.
JENNY: Oh, I know that. [Scornfully] I can see it.
BEN: Yes, I’m afraid I don’t do it very well. But I’ll improve with practice.
JENNY: Stop talking like that.
She brushes past him and goes to typewriter, sits down and begins to type on sheet in machine, banging through BEN’s speeches.
It sounds so childish!
BEN: Isn’t that in keeping with my previous speech—the one I made today—or didn’t make today—the stupid bumbling one I made, while they all sat round and grinned magnanimously. [Shouting] Must you rattle that infernal machine?
JENNY: [still going] I have two more paragraphs of the editorial—
BEN: Oh, yes, my dear father’s editorial! And what has my father to say to the public today?
JENNY: Advocating better means of communication—
BEN drags some crumpled sheets of copy paper out of his pocket, looks at it morosely, and stuffs it back. JENNY’s eyes follow the sheets.
BEN: Better means of communication. By all means—let us communicate with one another—freely and pleasantly, and without attempting to face vexatious problems which can only bring us discomfort and ridicule. [Sincerely] Poor King, I told him I’d do my best and I failed him, didn’t I?
JENNY: No, you didn’t, Ben… and King would be the last to think that. You tried to say something. At least, you tried!
BEN: And with such wonderful effect. I suppose my father had everyone smoothed and smiling in five minutes!
JENNY: He didn’t! He carried on where you left off. He was wonderful! He defended you… !
This is the wrong thing to say. The whisky in BEN rises.
BEN: I can defend myself. And when he defended Kingsley’s plans— he did it better than I did, didn’t he, Jenny?
JENNY: Ben, I was so proud of you when you spoke—
BEN: [flatly] But my father did it so much better.
JENNY: He’s had so much more experience with these things—
BEN: He’s so much cleverer, so much cooler, so much more dominating. Jenny, I have lived in my father’s shadow all my life. Oh, don’t think I haven’t loved him, like everyone else, I’ve fallen under the spell. I tell you, Jenny, I have come to believe that if I ever truly loved a woman, my father—if it occurred to him—could win her from me like that!
He snaps his finger.
Does that shock you, Jenny?
JENNY: [slowly] If you ever truly loved a woman… What about Gwynne?
BEN: [arrested] Gwynne…
He turns away to stare out the window.
Gwynne. Oh, I know she’s a sweet person and a good woman and—
JENNY: And she is to be your wife.
BEN: [with a dignified candour which infuriates JENNY] I know that, Jenny—and however weak you may think me, I am not weak enough to go back on the word I’ve given.
He looks for approbation and is shocked when JENNY snarls at him.
JENNY: That’s a very generous gesture, Ben! Oh, why does every man consider himself such a prize that it becomes the highest pledge of gentlemanly honour to marry the woman… yes, marry her, and patronise and belittle her for the rest of your lives together, complimenting yourselves for your divine condescension.
BEN opens his mouth to speak.
No, don’t deny it! Do you wonder, then, that we—the ones you call in your contempt, the New Women—that we fight for our right to an independent wage, an independent mind, an independent life… [Advancing on BEN] and, one day, my fine friend, we will be condescending if we marry YOU!
BEN: [laughing but sobered by her vehemence] Jenny for Governor!
JENNY: [rather flattened] You can laugh, Ben. But you have no right to speak of Gwynne like that.
BEN: [haughtily] When I marry her, I will consider it my duty to devote myself to her happiness.
JENNY: Duty… you, who cannot take this afternoon’s set-back without flying to alcohol! You, who are much too self-indulgent, not to gratify your own desires. If you—[She hesitates] If you should meet a woman who meant more to you, would you deny yourself—for Gwynne!
After a moment, BEN turns away from her eyes.
What would she suffer then? No—better to be brave now and let her turn to someone who does love her—someone like Kingsley—
BEN: Kingsley appears to have the knack of inspiring—confidence.
JENNY: [flushing with fury] Oh, you men—you talk glibly of women’s preoccupation with love-making, and yet you cannot bear another man praised without accusing her in your thoughts! Oh, I’m so tired of men!
Flounces back to her desk, gives typescript to BEN.
If you will take this down to Mr MacDonald, I can go home.
BEN takes the papers… then he turns back.
BEN: [sincerely] I’m sorry, Jenny. I’m weak and I hate it.
JENNY: You are weak Ben. And you’re denying your own talent because you’re afraid of it, just as your father denies the rebellion of his heart. You’re a journalist, Ben—you could write—you could explain to everyone in Koolgalla just what Kingsley’s dream can mean. You could do it, Ben.
BEN turns his back on her, walks slowly to her desk drops typescript on it, deep in his sense of defeat.
BEN: I can’t. I tried today. There it is. But it isn’t any use.
She comes quickly across the room, picks up typescript and begins to read it. BEN can’t help watching her reaction as she flicks over the first page.
JENNY: [delighted] It’s good, Ben—it’s good!
BEN: I didn’t think it was too bad, myself.
She is reading on.
Of course, most of that [Indicates pages] is Kingsley talking.
JENNY: But it isn’t. Kingsley talks for himself—and while he understands it, others may not. But this, this is written so that everyone will be able to understand. Everyone will see why it’s so important that we should beat our picks into plough shares.
BEN: Good, Jenny, that’s good—we ought to put that in… before we throw it in the wastepaper basket.
JENNY: [horrified] You don’t mean you’re not going to do anything with this?
BEN: What can I do?
JENNY: Print it! The space is waiting…
BEN: Print something in Rufus Torrent’s paper without his permission, and something with which he disagrees? Father would go stark raving mad if I did!
JENNY: [shortly] Let him! Anyway, he doesn’t disagree, he said as much as this himself, this afternoon.
BEN: Then for the sake of all our necks, let us leave him to write it himself, too. Toss it in the wastepaper basket, Jenny—or keep it as a souvenir of Ben Torrent’s first and last rebellion.
He starts for door.
And now I’m going to resume my practice—at the private bar of t
he Royal.
Turns back.
Don’t leave that stuff lying around.
JENNY: Oh, Ben! [Fiercely] Ben—are you afraid of your father?
BEN: [as he exits] Yes.
He goes.
JENNY: [forgetting her dignity and yelling after him] And when they carry you out, I’ll tell them to deliver you to Gwynne. It’s the gentlemanly thing, isn’t it, to allow the lady to unlace your boots and be sick in her lap?
She is screwing up the pages nervously when BERNIE comes in.
BERNIE: Did you call, Miss Milford? Is it ready?
JENNY: [snapping] What…? I’m sorry, Bernie. I’m… I’m out of sorts.
BERNIE: Gee, could I do anything… ?
JENNY: No, thanks, Bernie. I suppose you want the editorial.
Goes to desk and picks it up, she is rather close to tears.
Here you are, Bernie—guaranteed not to set the town on fire…
She stops… she looks at both sets of papers. She gives BERNIE BEN’s article.
Take this to Mr MacDonald, Bernie—tell him I’m sorry I kept him waiting but there was a—a last minute change of policy. And Bernie—Have this set double face and bold.
BERNIE: Right.
JENNY watches as he runs for the stairs.
ACT TWO CURTAIN
ACT THREE
SCENE ONE
The Argus office, the following morning. Bright morning light is coming through the windows, and as the curtain goes up, RUFUS comes out of the inner office with JENNY’s letter in one hand, a copy of the Argus in the other. He is standing in the middle of the stage, bellowing…
RUFUS: MacDonald! MacDonald! [Then] Christy! Where the blazing hell is everybody? CHRISTY!!
A startled CHRISTY appears round the door.
So you’re here at last! Where is MacDonald? More to the point—where is—where is that—[He struggles for words.] Where is Miss Milford?
CHRISTY: ’S only half past eight, Mr Torrent. She don’t start work till nine o’clock.
RUFUS: Nine… ! D’you think I’m going to wait for her till nine? Eh?
CHRISTY is considering the diplomatic answer.
Do you know where she lives?
CHRISTY: [all knowledgeable] Yes…
RUFUS: Then get her here immediately!
CHRISTY: But—she might still be in bed!
BEN: [meaning it] Then drag her out of it!
CHRISTY: [horrified] Who—me? By God, I don’t. Who—me? Me—
JENNY has appeared in the doorway. Although quaking inwardly, she is neatly dressed and looks calm and fresh.
JENNY: [sweetly] It’s quite alright, Christy. I am here.
She comes in, hangs her hat carefully below RUFUS’.
I came into the office early, it occurred to me that Mr Torrent might wish to see me.
RUFUS: [choking] It occurred to you! One mistake. Miss—!
JENNY indicates CHRISTY with a discreet nod which serves to infuriate RUFUS further.
Get out!
CHRISTY: [indignant] By Grundy, that’s no way to speak to me, Mr Torrent. By Grundy…
RUFUS swings on him and CHRISTY retires.
No—it’s no use trying to apologise! I’m not staying here!
As CHRISTY goes hastily, JENNY moves to her desk.
RUFUS: As for you, madam—have you any explanation for your—unwarranted—impudent, mischievous—interference…
JENNY: [cool and kind] Are you quite well, Mr Torrent… Your face is so flushed…
RUFUS, scarlet by now, throws up a hand in despair.
After all—there comes a time when we all have to consider our health.
RUFUS: [starting quietly] I am not yet so old, nor so decrepit, Miss Milford—that I am likely to collapse from a—quite understandable—annoyance! I am perfectly at ease—[Bellowing] PERFECTLY!
Warned by her expression he drops his voice carefully.
I am scarcely perturbed by the knowledge that my paper is ruined, that I am ridiculed, that my son is clay—wet clay, in the hands of a—a…
Facing her straight look he drops the sentence.
Incidentally, this morning—when I saw the ‘Argus’—I asked my son to leave my house.
JENNY: [sincerely] Poor Ben—I’m so sorry…
RUFUS walks to desk and looks down on her.
RUFUS: [in a quieter voice] I think it is only right that I should tell you that my son accepted full blame for that statement. He said he had done it alone. But I am not completely a fool, Miss Milford. I could tell from his bewilderment that he had not expected it to appear. However, he did not mean to—give you away.
JENNY: I did not mean to allow him to be blamed, sir. Surely you found my statement—and my resignation—on your desk?
RUFUS: [nodding] I found it. A typical piece of feminine heroics—and again disregarding the fact that ‘E I’ generally follows ‘C’.
JENNY has to laugh. She realises she has done it again. She starts to take her belongings out of the desk drawer. RUFUS throws letter in wastepaper basket. It misses.
JENNY: I think that clears everyone of any responsibility—except myself. You can publish it as it stands. I believe it covers everything.
RUFUS: Except one thing. You didn’t write that editorial—and Ben did.
JENNY: And you should be proud of him! He put into words the problem that everyone in Koolgalla has to face—and the solution to it. Though you publish fifty retractions, Mr Torrent, you can’t wipe that article from their thoughts.
RUFUS: I should have known, when I denied my better judgement, and took a woman into this office that we might expect some kind of specious underhand, interfering feminine logic… !
JENNY:… instead of open, honest, manly illogic!
RUFUS: If you were a man, madam, I would know how to deal with your action!
JENNY: If you were a man, Mr Torrent, you’d stand by it!
RUFUS gives a fleeting thought to murder. MANSON and SQUIRES storm in.
MANSON: So you did it! I should have known when we left yesterday afternoon and you were standing there, raging inside! Just once or twice I thought to myself—is he going to try to ram this down our necks? Don’t you know, you stupid Irish paddy, what directors’ meetings are for? Or did you think we were giving you our blessings and asking you to sink our money—our money!… My God, it’s the damned insolence of it that sticks in my throat—the damned high-and-mighty, go-to-hell insolence of it!
RUFUS: [coldly] My secretary is present, Mr Manson.
MANSON: Then let her go somewhere else! I want to talk to you! And you won’t want her to hear some of the things I’m going to say.
JENNY stands up to go.
SQUIRES: I’d be discreet, Mr Manson. Things can be misconstrued. I’m sure nobody thinks of coming to court cases, but—
MANSON: All right, Torrent, we’ll go into your office.
RUFUS: Whatever you have to say, it may be said in front of Miss Milford. She is completely in my confidence.
He waves JENNY back imperiously and she sits.
SQUIRES: Well, I think Mr Manson’s irritation is understandable, and I must say that when I put money into a newspaper I do expect my opinions to be at least considered. After all we all have to look after our own—
RUFUS: I thought the devil undertook that task.
MANSON: I wonder if I did misjudge you, Torrent. Yesterday, I said things to prickle you… [He looks at JENNY.] but I wasn’t really thinking about money. I wonder if you are getting something out of this scheme. If you are—so are we!
RUFUS: You accuse me of corruption?
SQUIRES: No—no. You put too harsh a word upon it… a libellous word!
MANSON: I’d put the word on it—if I knew what game you’re playing. If it’s just your bog-Irish pride that made you do it, then take a tip from me, and eat it! Retract every word of the damned editorial. Say it was a mistake, you were drunk, you were sunstruck—but deny every word you wrote. You did write i
t, I suppose?
RUFUS: No.
JENNY is watching him, breathless.
My son wrote it. And I may say, Mr Manson, I am proud of him. He took those facts that we refused to face and he stuck them in front of the eyes of the people who needed most to know them. He did his duty as a journalist—with honour and skill. And if a few noses should turn up—well, we’ll bear it.
MANSON: We’ll bear it! By heaven, I won’t!
SQUIRES: Fair is fair, Mr Torrent. Every man must protect his interests. We’ve spent time and money building businesses—developing them. You must understand, Mr Torrent—
MANSON: Understand, hell! I don’t want him to understand, so long as he takes orders. And if he doesn’t—it’s retraction or ruin, Torrent. None of us, not even that fool Twimple, will follow you in this. We’ll take out every penny we’ve put into the ‘Argus’ and I happen to know how much you need it for your grand schemes! We’ll take it out!
RUFUS: [the brogue showing] Take it out, then—in fact, I’ll buy you out! And be damned to you all for a pack of money-grabbing, small minded, mean-soured pedlars, and the town—and the paper—well rid of the lot of you.
MANSON lowers his head like an angry bull. Then he straightens and faces RUFUS.
MANSON: Right, my fine gentleman. Now we know where we stand. Let the others do as they like. I know what I’ll do. When I said ‘ruin’ I wasn’t playing with words. You want a fight—you’ll get it—and if it’s possible to ruin you… and I’ve ruined men before now—I’ll do it! By the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll wish you’d stayed digging potatoes—you’ll wish you had some in your stewpot. I never give quarter!
RUFUS: I never ask it.
MANSON: Good. Come on, Squires—I’m off to see Twimple. You coming?
SQUIRES: Yes, Mr Manson. But Mr Torrent, might I ask if there is something more to this scheme than might show to the—uninitiated, could we say? Some Government influence at work, some new discovery perhaps? Surely it would be friendly to tip the wink as they say…
MANSON: [off] Squires!
RUFUS: Mr Manson is calling for you, Mr Squires.
SQUIRES: Coming, Mr Manson…
He scurries off. RUFUS begins to laugh. Still laughing, he walks to the window, stands looking down into the street. He has stopped laughing. He is thinking hard. JENNY goes to stand on the other side of the window.
