Act I

In the dining room of a house in Denmark Hill, an elderly lady sits at breakfast reading the newspaper. Her chair is at the end of the oblong dining table furthest from the fire. There is an empty chair at the other end. The fireplace is behind this chair; and the door is next the fireplace, between it and the corner. An armchair stands beside the coal scuttle. In the middle of the back wall is the sideboard, parallel to the table. The rest of the furniture is mostly dining room chairs, ranged against the walls, and including a baby rocking chair on the lady’s side of the room. The lady is a placid person. Her husband, Mr. Robin Gilbey, not at all placid, bursts violently into the room with a letter in his hand.

Gilbey Grinding his teeth. This is a nice thing. This is a b⁠⸺⁠
Mrs. Gilbey Cutting him short. Leave it at that, please. Whatever it is, bad language won’t make it better.
Gilbey Bitterly. Yes, put me in the wrong as usual. Take your boy’s part against me. He flings himself into the empty chair opposite her.
Mrs. Gilbey When he does anything right, he’s your son. When he does anything wrong he’s mine. Have you any news of him?
Gilbey I’ve a good mind not to tell you.
Mrs. Gilbey Then don’t. I suppose he’s been found. That’s a comfort, at all events.
Gilbey No, he hasn’t been found. The boy may be at the bottom of the river for all you care. Too agitated to sit quietly, he rises and paces the room distractedly.
Mrs. Gilbey Then what have you got in your hand?
Gilbey I’ve a letter from the Monsignor Grenfell. From New York. Dropping us. Cutting us. Turning fiercely on her. That’s a nice thing, isn’t it?
Mrs. Gilbey What for?
Gilbey Flinging away towards his chair. How do I know what for?
Mrs. Gilbey What does he say?
Gilbey Sitting down and grumblingly adjusting his spectacles. This is what he says. “My dear Mr. Gilbey: The news about Bobby had to follow me across the Atlantic: it did not reach me until today. I am afraid he is incorrigible. My brother, as you may imagine, feels that this last escapade has gone beyond the bounds; and I think, myself, that Bobby ought to be made to feel that such scrapes involve a certain degree of reprobation.” “As you may imagine”! And we know no more about it than the babe unborn.
Mrs. Gilbey What else does he say?
Gilbey “I think my brother must have been just a little to blame himself; so, between ourselves, I shall, with due and impressive formality, forgive Bobby later on; but for the present I think it had better be understood that he is in disgrace, and that we are no longer on visiting terms. As ever, yours sincerely.” His agitation masters him again. That’s a nice slap in the face to get from a man in his position! This is what your son has brought on me.
Mrs. Gilbey Well, I think it’s rather a nice letter. He as good as tells you he’s only letting on to be offended for Bobby’s good.
Gilbey Oh, very well: have the letter framed and hang it up over the mantelpiece as a testimonial.
Mrs. Gilbey Don’t talk nonsense, Rob. You ought to be thankful to know that the boy is alive after his disappearing like that for nearly a week.
Gilbey Nearly a week! A fortnight, you mean. Where’s your feelings, woman? It was fourteen days yesterday.
Mrs. Gilbey Oh, don’t call it fourteen days, Rob, as if the boy was in prison.
Gilbey How do you know he’s not in prison? It’s got on my nerves so, that I’d believe even that.
Mrs. Gilbey Don’t talk silly, Rob. Bobby might get into a scrape like any other lad; but he’d never do anything low.
Juggins, the footman, comes in with a card on a salver. He is a rather low-spirited man of thirty-five or more, of good appearance and address, and iron self-command.
Juggins Presenting the salver to Mr. Gilbey. Lady wishes to see Mr. Bobby’s parents, sir.
Gilbey Pointing to Mrs. Gilbey. There’s Mr. Bobby’s parent. I disown him.
Juggins Yes, sir. He presents the salver to Mrs. Gilbey.
Mrs. Gilbey You mustn’t mind what your master says, Juggins: he doesn’t mean it. She takes the card and reads it. Well, I never!
Gilbey What’s up now?
Mrs. Gilbey Reading. “Miss D. Delaney. Darling Dora.” Just like that⁠—in brackets. What sort of person, Juggins?
Gilbey What’s her address?
Mrs. Gilbey The West Circular Road. Is that a respectable address, Juggins?
Juggins A great many most respectable people live in the West Circular Road, madam; but the address is not a guarantee of respectability.
Gilbey So it’s come to that with him, has it?
Mrs. Gilbey Don’t jump to conclusions, Rob. How do you know? To Juggins. Is she a lady, Juggins? You know what I mean.
Juggins In the sense in which you are using the word, no, madam.
Mrs. Gilbey I’d better try what I can get out of her. To Juggins. Show her up. You don’t mind, do you, Rob?
Gilbey So long as you don’t flounce out and leave me alone with her. He rises and plants himself on the hearthrug.
Juggins goes out.
Mrs. Gilbey I wonder what she wants, Rob?
Gilbey If she wants money, she shan’t have it. Not a farthing. A nice thing, everybody seeing her on our doorstep! If it wasn’t that she may tell us something about the lad, I’d have Juggins put the hussy into the street.
Juggins Returning and announcing. Miss Delaney. He waits for express orders before placing a chair for this visitor.
Miss Delaney comes in. She is a young lady of hilarious disposition, very tolerable good looks, and killing clothes. She is so affable and confidential that it is very difficult to keep her at a distance by any process short of flinging her out of the house.
Dora Plunging at once into privileged intimacy and into the middle of the room. How d’ye do, both. I’m a friend of Bobby’s. He told me all about you once, in a moment of confidence. Of course he never let on who he was at the police court.
Gilbey Police court!
Mrs. Gilbey Looking apprehensively at Juggins. Tch⁠—! Juggins: a chair.
Dora Oh, I’ve let it out, have I! Contemplating Juggins approvingly as he places a chair for her between the table and the sideboard. But he’s the right sort: I can see that. Buttonholing him. You won’t let on downstairs, old man, will you?
Juggins The family can rely on my absolute discretion. He withdraws.
Dora Sitting down genteelly. I don’t know what you’ll say to me: you know I really have no right to come here; but then what was I to do? You know Holy Joe, Bobby’s tutor, don’t you? But of course you do.
Gilbey With dignity. I know Mr. Joseph Grenfell, the brother of Monsignor Grenfell, if it is of him you are speaking.
Dora Wide-eyed and much amused. No!!! You don’t tell me that old geezer has a brother a Monsignor! And you’re Catholics! And I never knew it, though I’ve known Bobby ever so long! But of course the last thing you find out about a person is their religion, isn’t it?
Mrs. Gilbey We’re not Catholics. But when the Samuelses got an Archdeacon’s son to form their boy’s mind, Mr. Gilbey thought Bobby ought to have a chance too. And the Monsignor is a customer. Mr. Gilbey consulted him about Bobby; and he recommended a brother of his that was more sinned against than sinning.
Gilbey On tenderhooks. She don’t want to hear about that, Maria. To Dora. What’s your business?
Dora I’m afraid it was all my fault.
Gilbey What was all your fault? I’m half distracted. I don’t know what has happened to the boy: he’s been lost these fourteen days⁠—
Mrs. Gilbey A fortnight, Rob.
Gilbey —and not a word have we heard of him since.
Mrs. Gilbey Don’t fuss, Rob.
Gilbey Yelling. I will fuss. You’ve no feeling. You don’t care what becomes of the lad. He sits down savagely.
Dora Soothingly. You’ve been anxious about him. Of course. How thoughtless of me not to begin by telling you he’s quite safe. Indeed he’s in the safest place in the world, as one may say: safe under lock and key.
Gilbey Horrified, pitiable. Oh my⁠—His breath fails him. Do you mean that when he was in the police court he was in the dock? Oh, Maria! Oh, great Lord! What has he done? What has he got for it? Desperate. Will you tell me or will you see me go mad on my own carpet?
Dora Sweetly. Yes, old dear⁠—
Mrs. Gilbey Starting at the familiarity. Well!
Dora Continuing. I’ll tell you: but don’t you worry: he’s all right. I came out myself this morning: there was such a crowd! and a band! they thought I was a suffragette: only fancy! You see it was like this. Holy Joe got talking about how he’d been a champion sprinter at college.
Mrs. Gilbey A what?
Dora A sprinter. He said he was the fastest hundred yards runner in England. We were all in the old cowshed that night.
Mrs. Gilbey What old cowshed?
Gilbey Groaning. Oh, get on. Get on.
Dora Oh, of course you wouldn’t know. How silly of me! It’s a rather go-ahead sort of music hall in Stepney. We call it the old cowshed.
Mrs. Gilbey Does Mr. Grenfell take Bobby to music halls?
Dora No. Bobby takes him. But Holy Joe likes it: fairly laps it up like a kitten, poor old dear. Well, Bobby says to me, “Darling⁠—”
Mrs. Gilbey Placidly. Why does he call you Darling?
Dora Oh, everybody calls me Darling: it’s a sort of name I’ve got. Darling Dora, you know. Well, he says, “Darling, if you can get Holy Joe to sprint a hundred yards, I’ll stand you that squiffer with the gold keys.”
Mrs. Gilbey Does he call his tutor Holy Joe to his face? Gilbey clutches at his hair in his impatience.
Dora Well, what would he call him? After all, Holy Joe is Holy Joe; and boys will be boys.
Mrs. Gilbey What’s a squiffer?
Dora Oh, of course: excuse my vulgarity: a concertina. There’s one in a shop in Green Street, ivory inlaid, with gold keys and Russia leather bellows; and Bobby knew I hankered after it; but he couldn’t afford it, poor lad, though I knew he just longed to give it to me.
Gilbey Maria: if you keep interrupting with silly questions, I shall go out of my senses. Here’s the boy in gaol and me disgraced forever; and all you care to know is what a squiffer is.
Dora Well, remember it has gold keys. The man wouldn’t take a penny less than 15 pounds for it. It was a presentation one.
Gilbey Shouting at her. Where’s my son? What’s happened to my son? Will you tell me that, and stop cackling about your squiffer?
Dora Oh, ain’t we impatient! Well, it does you credit, old dear. And you needn’t fuss: there’s no disgrace. Bobby behaved like a perfect gentleman. Besides, it was all my fault. I’ll own it: I took too much champagne. I was not what you might call drunk; but I was bright, and a little beyond myself; and⁠—I’ll confess it⁠—I wanted to show off before Bobby, because he was a bit taken by a woman on the stage; and she was pretending to be game for anything. You see you’ve brought Bobby up too strict; and when he gets loose there’s no holding him. He does enjoy life more than any lad I ever met.
Gilbey Never you mind how he’s been brought up: that’s my business. Tell me how he’s been brought down: that’s yours.
Mrs. Gilbey Oh, don’t be rude to the lady, Rob.
Dora I’m coming to it, old dear: don’t you be so headstrong. Well, it was a beautiful moonlight night; and we couldn’t get a cab on the nod; so we started to walk, very jolly, you know: arm in arm, and dancing along, singing and all that. When we came into Jamaica Square, there was a young copper on point duty at the corner. I says to Bob: “Dearie boy: is it a bargain about the squiffer if I make Joe sprint for you?” “Anything you like, darling,” says he: “I love you.” I put on my best company manners and stepped up to the copper. “If you please, sir,” says I, “can you direct me to Carrickmines Square?” I was so genteel, and talked so sweet, that he fell to it like a bird. “I never heard of any such Square in these parts,” he says. “Then,” says I, “what a very silly little officer you must be!”; and I gave his helmet a chuck behind that knocked it over his eyes, and did a bunk.
Mrs. Gilbey Did a what?
Dora A bunk. Holy Joe did one too all right: he sprinted faster than he ever did in college, I bet, the old dear. He got clean off, too. Just as he was overtaking me halfway down the square, we heard the whistle; and at the sound of it he drew away like a streak of lightning; and that was the last I saw of him. I was copped in the Dock Road myself: rotten luck, wasn’t it? I tried the innocent and genteel and all the rest; but Bobby’s hat done me in.
Gilbey And what happened to the boy?
Dora Only fancy! he stopped to laugh at the copper! He thought the copper would see the joke, poor lamb. He was arguing about it when the two that took me came along to find out what the whistle was for, and brought me with them. Of course I swore I’d never seen him before in my life; but there he was in my hat and I in his. The cops were very spiteful and laid it on for all they were worth: drunk and disorderly and assaulting the police and all that. I got fourteen days without the option, because you see⁠—well, the fact is, I’d done it before, and been warned. Bobby was a first offender and had the option; but the dear boy had no money left and wouldn’t give you away by telling his name; and anyhow he couldn’t have brought himself to buy himself off and leave me there; so he’s doing his time. Well, it was two forty shillingses; and I’ve only twenty-eight shillings in the world. If I pawn my clothes I shan’t be able to earn any more. So I can’t pay the fine and get him out; but if you’ll stand 3 pounds I’ll stand one; and that’ll do it. If you’d like to be very kind and nice you could pay the lot; but I can’t deny that it was my fault; so I won’t press you.
Gilbey Heartbroken. My son in gaol!
Dora Oh, cheer up, old dear: it won’t hurt him: look at me after fourteen days of it; I’m all the better for being kept a bit quiet. You mustn’t let it prey on your mind.
Gilbey The disgrace of it will kill me. And it will leave a mark on him to the end of his life.
Dora Not a bit of it. Don’t you be afraid: I’ve educated Bobby a bit: he’s not the mollycoddle he was when you had him in hand.
Mrs. Gilbey Indeed Bobby is not a mollycoddle. They wanted him to go in for singlestick at the Young Men’s Christian Association; but, of course, I couldn’t allow that: he might have had his eye knocked out.
Gilbey To Dora, angrily. Listen here, you.
Dora Oh, ain’t we cross!
Gilbey I want none of your gaiety here. This is a respectable household. You’ve gone and got my poor innocent boy into trouble. It’s the like of you that’s the ruin of the like of him.
Dora So you always say, you old dears. But you know better. Bobby came to me: I didn’t come to him.
Gilbey Would he have gone if you hadn’t been there for him to go to? Tell me that. You know why he went to you, I suppose?
Dora Charitably. It was dull for him at home, poor lad, wasn’t it?
Mrs. Gilbey Oh no. I’m at home on first Thursdays. And we have the Knoxes to dinner every Friday. Margaret Knox and Bobby are as good as engaged. Mr. Knox is my husband’s partner. Mrs. Knox is very religious; but she’s quite cheerful. We dine with them on Tuesdays. So that’s two evenings pleasure every week.
Gilbey Almost in tears. We done what we could for the boy. Short of letting him go into temptations of all sorts, he can do what he likes. What more does he want?
Dora Well, old dear, he wants me; and that’s about the long and short of it. And I must say you’re not very nice to me about it. I’ve talked to him like a mother, and tried my best to keep him straight; but I don’t deny I like a bit of fun myself; and we both get a bit giddy when we’re lighthearted. Him and me is a pair, I’m afraid.
Gilbey Don’t talk foolishness, girl. How could you and he be a pair, you being what you are, and he brought up as he has been, with the example of a religious woman like Mrs. Knox before his eyes? I can’t understand how he could bring himself to be seen in the street with you. Pitying himself. I haven’t deserved this. I’ve done my duty as a father. I’ve kept him sheltered. Angry with her. Creatures like you that take advantage of a child’s innocence ought to be whipped through the streets.
Dora Well, whatever I may be, I’m too much the lady to lose my temper; and I don’t think Bobby would like me to tell you what I think of you; for when I start giving people a bit of my mind I sometimes use language that’s beneath me. But I tell you once for all I must have the money to get Bobby out; and if you won’t fork out, I’ll hunt up Holy Joe. He might get it off his brother, the Monsignor.
Gilbey You mind your own concerns. My solicitor will do what is right. I’ll not have you paying my son’s fine as if you were anything to him.
Dora That’s right. You’ll get him out today, won’t you?
Gilbey It’s likely I’d leave my boy in prison, isn’t it?
Dora I’d like to know when they’ll let him out.
Gilbey You would, would you? You’re going to meet him at the prison door.
Dora Well, don’t you think any woman would that had the feelings of a lady?
Gilbey Bitterly. Oh yes: I know. Here! I must buy the lad’s salvation, I suppose. How much will you take to clear out and let him go?
Dora Pitying him: quite nice about it. What good would that do, old dear? There are others, you know.
Gilbey That’s true. I must send the boy himself away.
Dora Where to?
Gilbey Anywhere, so long as he’s out of the reach of you and your like.
Dora Then I’m afraid you’ll have to send him out of the world, old dear. I’m sorry for you: I really am, though you mightn’t believe it; and I think your feelings do you real credit. But I can’t give him up just to let him fall into the hands of people I couldn’t trust, can I?
Gilbey Beside himself, rising. Where’s the police? Where’s the Government? Where’s the Church? Where’s respectability and right reason? What’s the good of them if I have to stand here and see you put my son in your pocket as if he was a chattel slave, and you hardly out of gaol as a common drunk and disorderly? What’s the world coming to?
Dora It is a lottery, isn’t it, old dear?
Mr. Gilbey rushes from the room, distracted.
Mrs. Gilbey Unruffled. Where did you buy that white lace? I want some to match a collaret of my own; and I can’t get it at Perry and John’s.
Dora Knagg and Pantle’s: one and fourpence. It’s machine handmade.
Mrs. Gilbey I never give more than one and tuppence. But I suppose you’re extravagant by nature. My sister Martha was just like that. Pay anything she was asked.
Dora What’s tuppence to you, Mrs. Bobby, after all?
Mrs. Gilbey Correcting her. Mrs. Gilbey.
Dora Of course, Mrs. Gilbey. I am silly.
Mrs. Gilbey Bobby must have looked funny in your hat. Why did you change hats with him?
Dora I don’t know. One does, you know.
Mrs. Gilbey I never did. The things people do! I can’t understand them. Bobby never told me he was keeping company with you. His own mother!
Dora Overcome. Excuse me: I can’t help smiling.
Juggins enters.
Juggins Mr. Gilbey has gone to Wormwood Scrubbs, madam.
Mrs. Gilbey Have you ever been in a police court, Juggins?
Juggins Yes, madam.
Mrs. Gilbey Rather shocked. I hope you had not been exceeding, Juggins.
Juggins Yes, madam, I had. I exceeded the legal limit.
Mrs. Gilbey Oh, that! Why do they give a woman a fortnight for wearing a man’s hat, and a man a month for wearing hers?
Juggins I didn’t know that they did, madam.
Mrs. Gilbey It doesn’t seem justice, does it, Juggins?
Juggins No, madam.
Mrs. Gilbey To Dora, rising. Well, goodbye. Shaking her hand. So pleased to have made your acquaintance.
Dora Standing up. Don’t mention it. I’m sure it’s most kind of you to receive me at all.
Mrs. Gilbey I must go off now and order lunch. She trots to the door. What was it you called the concertina?
Dora A squiffer, dear.
Mrs. Gilbey Thoughtfully. A squiffer, of course. How funny! She goes out.
Dora Exploding into ecstasies of mirth. Oh my! isn’t she an old love? How do you keep your face straight?
Juggins It is what I am paid for.
Dora Confidentially. Listen here, dear boy. Your name isn’t Juggins. Nobody’s name is Juggins.
Juggins My orders are, Miss Delaney, that you are not to be here when Mr. Gilbey returns from Wormwood Scrubbs.
Dora That means telling me to mind my own business, doesn’t it? Well, I’m off. Tootle Loo, Charlie Darling. She kisses her hand to him and goes.